MARGARET 
WIDDEMER 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


WHY  NOT? 


WHY  NOT? 


By 
MARGARET  WIDDEMER 

Author  of  "The  Rose-Garden  Husband." 


Illustrated 


New  York 

Hearst's  International  Library  Co. 
1915 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 


Copyright,  1915,  by 
HEARST'S  INTERNATIONAL  LIBRARY  Co.,  INC. 

All  rights  reserved,  including  translation  into  foreign 
languages,  including  the  Scandinavian. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  ONE 

PAGE 

TOUCHING  THE  ELEPHANT 1 

CHAPTER  TWO 
THE  SQUIRE 15 

CHAPTER  THREE 
ALICIA  LAURETTA 31 

CHAPTER  FOUR 
THE  KNIGHTLY  LOVER 47 

CHAPTER  FIVE 
THE  TURBINE  ENGINE  AND  THE  SQUIRE  ....     60 

CHAPTER  SIX 
THE  WHITE  KNIGHT 71 

CHAPTER  SEVEN 
THE  QUEST  OF  THE  BLOODHOUND 85 

CHAPTER  EIGHT 
THE  RED  BRICK  ELEPHANT 105 

CHAPTER  NINE 
THE  DREAM  OF  SYDNEY  BROWNE 121 


CONTENTS 
CHAPTER  TEN 

PAGE 

THE  SQUIRE  OBJECTS 140 

CHAPTER  ELEVEN 
SYDNEY  ATTAINS 160 

CHAPTER  TWELVE 
MR.  MATTISON .    178 

CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 
THE  BEAUTIES  OF  NATURE 198 

CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 
THE  MERRY  ZINGARA 217 

CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 
LOOKING  AFTER  MARTHA 238 

CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 
NIGHT  WATCHES 14      .   253 

CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 
COURTING  AND  KHAKI 271 

CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 
NIGHT  WATCHES .   294 

CHAPTER  NINETEEN 
THE  LAST  DREAM  ...  .  .321 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"  ROSAMOND  " Frontispiece 

" '  HERE'S  PARLEYS,'  SAID  RICHARD  "       .      .      .      .215 

"  YOU     CAN     JUST     PICK     ME     UP     AND     PUT    ME     BACK 

WHERE  YOU  GOT  ME  FROM,  MASTER  JOHNNIE  "    .     337 


WHY  NOT? 

CHAPTER  ONE 

TOUCHING  THE  ELEPHANT 

46  ANNE    ROSAMOND    GILBERT!"   cried 

_X\.  Cousin  Jenny  in  a  voice  that  would  have 
been  pained  if  it  hadn't  been  so  shocked. 

Anne  Rosamond,  young  and  a  little  defiantly  wist 
ful,  leaned  back  in  the  big  old  shabby  Sleepy  Hollow 
armchair.  It  was  the  only  comfortable  chair  in 
Grand  Uncle  Alvin's  dun  old  rep-furnished  parlour, 
and  the  only  reason  he  wasn't  occupying  it  himself 
to-day  was  that  Grand  Uncle  Alvin  had  died  — 
rather  crossly  —  a  fortnight  before.  Anne  Rosa 
mond  had  been  sitting  in  the  chair  ever  since,  when 
it  was  possible,  just  to  see  how  it  felt.  She'd  been 
wondering,  off  and  on,  ever  since  she  was  a  small, 
wistful  child  of  five. 

"  Well  ? "  she  replied  now  to  Cousin  Jenny's 
agonised  voice.  Her  big  dark  eyes,  a  little  sad  be 
fore,  lighted  with  mischief,  and  she  held  her  lips 
suspiciously  straight.  "  Well,  why  not  ?  " 

"  Why    not  ? "    said    Cousin    Jenny    pathetically. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  that's  not  a  proper  answer !    Why  — 

1 


2  WHY  NOT? 

why  —  a  nice  girl  shouldn't.  Now  just  consider. 
Your  poor  uncle  left  you  three  thousand  dollars  and 
this  house,  and  it's  all  you  have  to  live  on.  And 
here  you  say  you're  going  to  spend  it !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Anne  Rosamond  rebelliously  again, 
swinging  her  foot,  "  if  he  could  spend  twenty  thou 
sand  dollars  building  his  old  Alvin  Sanborn  Me 
morial  Church,  just  so  people  never  could  have  a 
chance  to  forget  him  whether  they  wanted  to  or  not, 
I  guess  I  can  spend  the  only  three  thousand  dollars 
he  left  me  to  remember  myself  by !  " 

She  sat  up  very  straight  for  a  moment,  because 
the  habit  of  eighteen  straight-backed  years  is  hard 
to  overcome.  Anne  Rosamond  hadn't  had  a  very 
leaning-back  childhood.  Then  she  remembered,  and 
curled  herself  luxuriously  down  again.  If  she  was 
a  little  frightened  at  the  too  good  times  for  proper- 
ness  in  her  own  plans,  nobody  knew  it  but  herself. 

"  Anne  Rosamond,"  said  Cousin  Jenny  firmly, 
"  your  Cousin  George  thinks,  and  so  do  I,  and  so 
would  any  sensible  person,  that  you  ought  to  take 
that  money  and  go  and  learn  to  be  a  stenographer 
or  a  secretary  or  a  domestic  science  teacher. 
There's  enough  to  keep  you  nicely  till  you  are 
through  and  have  a  start.  Then  you  can  come  back 
to  East  Warren  and  live  with  us,  and  commute  to 
the  city.  I'd  gladly  ask  you  to  stay  with  us  and 
not  work,  dear,  but  —  but  you  know  — " 

"  You  darling,  certainly  I  know,"  said  Anne  Rosa- 


TOUCHING  THE  ELEPHANT  3 

mond,  springing  up  with  one  of  her  swift,  graceful, 
unexpected  movements,  and  running  over  to  put  her 
arms  round  her  cousin.  Cousin  George,  Cousin 
Jenny's  husband,  was  an  in-law,  and  his  only  modern 
attitude  was  a  firm  belief  that  female  relatives  should 
not  be  burdens.  "  Won't  you  please  let  me  tell  you, 
Cousin  Jenny  ?  "  she  asked  caressingly.  "  I  —  I 
suppose  it  will  seem  foolish  to  you.  Things  always 
do  —  don't  they  ?  to  people  who  remember  you  when 
you  were  little.  They  think  everything  you  do  is 
because  you're  a  little  girl  yet.  They  forget  your 
mind  grows  up  too.  But  it's  this  way.  Once  upon 
a  time,  oh,  a  very  long  time  ago,  wasn't  there  some 
thing  you  wanted  very,  very  much?  Something  you 
couldn't  tell  about  wanting  for  fear  people  would 
laugh  at  you  —  something  you  wanted  so  hard  that 
you  thought  you'd  die  if  you  didn't  have  it  ?  " 

Cousin  Jenny's  faded  grey  eyes  dropped  to  her 
woollen-gloved  hands  for  a  minute. 

"  Yes,"  she  owned,  slowly.  "  Yes,  I  don't  know 
but  people  might  have  feelings  just  like  that." 

Anne  Rosamond  clasped  both  slim,  capable  hands 
over  the  arm  of  Cousin  Jenny's  chair,  and  her  voice 
softened. 

"That's  what  I've  had,"  she  explained.  "You 
know,  Cousin  Jenny,  Uncle  Alvin  was  —  well,  he 
didn't  pet  people,  and  little  girls  that  haven't  any 
thing  but  uncles  ought  to  be  petted  by  them,  I  think. 
It  isn't  hard  to  do.  But  he  didn't." 


4  WHY  NOT? 

"  Oh,  hush,  my  dear,  he's  in  Heaven ! "  protested 
her  cousin  hurriedly. 

"  Well,  if  he  is,"  said  Rosamond  with  one  of  her 
swiftly  childlike  changes  from  wist  fulness  to  elfish- 
ness,  "  if  he  is,  I'll  guarantee  he  has  three  hard- 
worked  little  cherubs  and  at  least  two  ministering 
angels  waiting  on  him  hand  and  foot  —  no,  hand  and 
wing  —  this  minute !  .  .  .  Never  mind  that.  But  at 
least,  even  if  he  is  dead,  you'll  admit  that  he  wasn't 
exactly  a  dream-giving  person." 

Cousin  Jenny  nodded.  "  No,  no,  dear,"  she  as 
sented.  But  she  looked  a  little  puzzled.  Cousin 
Jenny  hadn't  been  given  many  dreams  herself,  and 
she  didn't  know  quite  what  Rosamond  was  driving 
at. 

Rosamond's  shell-coloured  cheeks  flushed  deeper, 
and  she  stared  up  at  the  what-not  as  she  went  on  talk 
ing  eagerly. 

"  When  I  was  little,"  she  said,  "  and  I  came  here 
first,  I  think  I'd  been  used  to  dream-giving  persons. 
I  don't  remember  father  or  mother  very  well,  but 
they  must  have  been  the  kind  of  parents  little  children 
enjoy  having,  because  I  was  so  surprised  at  first  at  the 
things  Uncle  Alvin  wouldn't  let  me  do.  Things  I 
might  as  well  have  done  as  not.  Little  bits  of  chil 
dren  can  tell  the  difference  in  people,  you  know.  I 
remember  how  dreadfully  I  wanted  to  be  lifted  up  to 
touch  that  ivory  elephant  on  the  what-not,  and  it 
never  occurred  to  me  that  he  wouldn't  do  it  till  he 


TOUCHING  THE  ELEPHANT  5 

didn't.  And  he  never  kissed  me  good-night  once  in 
my  life  that  I  remember.  He  didn't  see  any  reason 
why  he  should,  I  suppose.  His  idea  was,  I  think, 
that  if  there  wasn't  any  reason  why  you  should  there 
was  every  reason  why  you  shouldn't.  And  —  oh, 
well,  there  were  too  many  things  to  count  up,  little 
foolish  things  that  used  to  hurt  dreadfully,  till  I  got 
sort  of  don't  care  all  the  time.  When  I  was  older 
it  was  just  the  same  way.  He'd  give  me  a  red  dress 
when  I  was  wild  for  a  blue  one;  just  as  pretty 
a  dress,  maybe,  but  not  the  one  J  wanted.  Or  I'd 
get  a  history  book  for  Christmas  when  he  knew  I 
wanted  a  story-book  or  a  sash  dreadfully.  And  — 
there  wasn't  any  point  you  could  get  at  him  to  love 
him.  I  think  maybe  that  was  the  worst.  He  always 
saw  to  it  that  I  had  enough  to  eat  and  wear,  and 
that  I  went  to  school,  but  —  oh,  Cousin  Jenny,  such 
lots  of  people  can  give  you  those  things,  and  so  few 
can  give  you  the  silly  little  kind  things  you'd  much 
rather  have ! " 

"Yes,"  said  Cousin  Jenny  thoughtfully,  "yes,  I 
know." 

She,  too,  looked  up  at  the  ivory  elephant,  yellow 
ing  undisturbed  on  the  exact  spot  where  he  had 
stayed  for  a  generation.  Suddenly  she  began  to 
talk,  low  and  breathlessly,  as  if  she  were  afraid  the 
elephant  would  overhear  her. 

"  I  always  wanted  a  little  magic  lantern,"  she  said, 
"  always.  Just  a  little  tiny  one  that  you  could  use 


6  WHY  NOT? 

in  the  parlour,  you  know.  My  brother  had  one  when 
he  was  small.  But  he  never  would  let  me  touch  it  — 
and  he  got  the  camels  in  upside  down  nearly  every 
time.  And  I  know  I  could  have  fixed  them  right! 
He  gave  it  away  to  little  Robbie  Sloan  next  door 
when  he  out-grew  it  himself.  I  didn't  dare  say  I 
wanted  it  —  it  would  have  been  too  silly.  But  I've 
always  wanted  it  —  always.  I  know  it's  foolish. 
But  even  now,  when  George  is  out  at  lodges  —  you 
know  he  belongs  to  several  —  I  can't  help  thinking 
what  a  comfort  it  would  be  to  have  just  a  little  lan 
tern,  to  throw  pictures  on  the  living-room  wall,  lone 
some  nights.  There's  a  lovely  place  for  the  sheet 
right  between  the  windows  — " 

She  stopped  short,  and  looked  frightened.  But 
Anne  Rosamond  was  the  sort  of  person  you  found 
yourself  telling  intimate  things  to  very  easily.  They 
always  seemed  to  be  the  sort  of  things  it  was  natural 
for  her  to  hear,  and  yet  she  wasn't  greedily  interested 
in  that  way  which  makes  you  certain  that  what  you 
say  is  going  to  be  passed  along. 

"  Why,  there  now !  "  she  said  soothingly,  and  patted 
Cousin  Jenny's  hand,  "  of  course  you  want  it.  And 
you  ought  to  have  it.  Maybe  you  will,  sometime 
soon  —  there's  no  telling.  Why  —  why,  then,  you 
understand,  Cousin  Jenny !  " 

But  Cousin  Jenny  looked  bewildered. 

"  I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  — "  she 
began. 


TOUCHING  THE  ELEPHANT  7 

Rosamond  bent  toward  her  and  spoke  gently. 

"  No,  dear,  I  don't  believe  you  do  quite,  after  all," 
she  said.  "  Because  many  a  time,  I  suppose,  you've 
had  money  enough  to  buy  your  lantern,  and  bought 
necessary  clothes  instead,  or  maybe  carpets  or  things 
to  eat.  But  —  I'm  going  to  take  that  old  three  thou 
sand  dollars  that  Grand  Uncle  Alvin  forgot  to  make 
over  to  an  Uncle  Alvin  Fund  somewhere,  and  —  buy 
my  lantern ! " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  stood  over  her  cousin, 
tall  and  pretty  and  alight.  All  the  years  when  she 
had  been  crushed  down  by  a  very  hard  and  severe 
old  man  who  was  very  sure  of  his  own  righteousness 
were  forgotten.  Her  face  was  bright  with  the  mere 
anticipation  of  happiness  and  good  times  and  ad 
venture  at  last.  Cousin  Jenny  looked  up  at  her, 
vaguely  uneasy  at  her  blitheness.  It  didn't  seem 
quite  right  to  her  that  anybody  should  be  as  care 
free  as  Rosamond  looked  just  then. 

"  Please  tell  me  what  you  mean,  Anne  Rosamond," 
begged  Cousin  Jenny  plaintively.  "  Nothing  very 

—  rash?" 

Rosamond  dropped  down  into  the  Sleepy  Hollow 
again,  and  answered.  All  the  hunger  of  youth  for 
happiness  was  in  her  face  as  she  replied. 

"  Nothing  very  dreadful,"  she  reassured.     "  Only 

—  I'm  going  to  try  to  realise  some  of  my  dreams. 
Oh,  I  do  want  some  dreams  so !     All  the  little  foolish 
ones  I've  been  saving  up  for  years.     Then  the  big 


8  WHY  NOT? 

ones.  Then; — why,  then,  perhaps,  dear,  I'll  have 
practised  enough  to  help  other  people  realise  theirs ! 
There  must  be  lots  of  dreams  floating  about  that  could 
be  realised,  if  people  only  thought  so."  Her  eyes 
lighted  with  mischief  again.  "  Rosamond,  Realiser 
of  Dreams ! "  she  said.  "  Wouldn't  it  make  a  lovely 
signboard?  And  under  it,  for  a  motto,  '  Why  Not? 
said  the  Caterpillar.' " 

"  The  caterpillar?  "  inquired  Cousin  Jenny  faintly. 

"  It's  a  motto  from  the  classics,"  said  Rosamond 
truthfully,  for  if  Lewis  Carroll  is  not  a  classic,  who 
is  ?  "  You  know,"  she  went  on,  "  there  isn't  really 
any  reason  why  people  shouldn't  have  the  things  they 
want  the  most.  They  don't  have  them  generally,  be 
cause  they  never  think  they  can.  If  they  thought 
they  could,  they  could  — •  and  so  they  would.  '  Why 
Not?  said  the  Caterpillar.'  That's  a  lovely  motto, 
Cousin  Jenny.  I  intend  to  carry  it  through  the 
world,  like  E  Pluribus  Unum,  or  Votes  for  Women, 
or  something." 

"  You  aren't  going  to  start  anything  very  wild, 
are  you,  dear?  "  ventured  Cousin  Jenny  again. 

"  I  am  going  to  start,"  said  Anne  Rosamond  defi 
nitely,  "  by  touching  the  ivory  elephant." 

And  she  went  over  and  mounted  a  haircloth  chair 
which  enabled  her  to  take  down  the  animal  in  ques 
tion.  She  sat  down  and  nursed  him. 

"  He  feels  just  the  way  he  always  was  going  to 
feel !  "  she  said  ecstatically.  Her  face  was  as  flushed 


TOUCHING  THE  ELEPHANT  9 

and  happy  as  a  child's.  There  had  been  so  pitifully 
few  realised  dreams  in  Anne  Rosamond's  life! 
"  There  are  more  things  than  this  that  I  want,"  she 
mused.  "  I  want  a  Japanese  silk  nightgown.  And 
a  house  off  in  the  woods  somewhere.  On  the  edge  of 
the  woods,  near  the  water,  you  know,  and  all  my 
own  — '  to  live  in  a  house  by  the  side  of  the  road  and 
be  the  friend  of  man.'  And  a  Livonian  bloodhound. 
I  don't  know  what  he  looks  like,  but  I  read  about  him 
once  in  a  novel  Grand-Uncle  Alvin  didn't  know  I  had. 
I  always  imagined  him  liver-coloured  and  brown  in 
stripes,  like  a  zebra.  .  .  .  And  a  knightly  lover.  I 
know  just  exactly  what  Tie  ought  to  look  like.  .  .  . 
And  to  tell  fortunes  for  a  living." 

66  Anne  Rosamond ! "  exclaimed  Cousin  Jenny. 

"  Not  in  a  wrapper,  like  the  ones  on  boardwalks," 
reassured  Anne  Rosamond.  "  In  lovely,  really  for- 
tune-tellingy  clothes."  She  went  on  with  her  list. 
Cousin  Jenny  sank  down  in  her  chair  like  a  doll  whose 
sawdust  was  being  removed.  "  And  I  want  to  find 
some  one  who  looks  up  to  me  abjectly,  because  I've 
always  been  told  I  was  too  young  to  have  judgment. 
I'm  sure,"  said  Rosamond  wistfully,  "  that  I  could 
have  judgment  with  a  little  practice.  And  I  want 
to  lie  flat  on  my  back  watching  stars  for  a  whole 
evening  without  being  told  to  come  in  out  of  the  dew. 
And  to  kiss  just  one  man  without  being  engaged  to 
him.  And  to  have  ice-cream  in  the  forenoon." 

"  And  you  think  you  can  do  all  that  on  three  thou- 


10  WHY  NOT? 

sand  dollars  ?  "  asked  Cousin  Jenny  as  unsympatheti- 
cally  as  if  she  had  never  known  an  unsatisfied  wish 
in  her  whole  life.  "  Anne  Rosamond,  you're  crazy !  " 

"  Oh,  but  some  of  them  won't  cost  anything  at  all," 
said  Anne  Rosamond  eagerly.  "  The  stars,  for  in 
stance,  and  the  person  who  looks  up  to  me.  And 
there's  another  thing  —  I  want  to  be  called  just  Rosa 
mond,  without  the  Anne.  Don't  you  think  you  could 
do  that?" 

"That's  foolish,"  said  Cousin  Jenny. 

"  I'm  going  to  try  to  have  it  happen,  though,"  said 
Rosamond.  "  I  should  feel  much  prettier,  I'm  sure, 
and  more  ornamental,  some  way,  just  Rosamond.  So 
please  address  my  letters  that  way  to  Wanalasset. 

"  Have  you  got  the  place  picked  out?  "  inquired 
Cousin  Jenny,  lighting  on  the  one  significant  fact  in 
italics. 

Rosamond  began  to  play  with  the  elephant.  He 
was  a  large,  elderly,  expensive  animal,  but  she  swung 
him  gaily  by  the  tail.  If  there  was  a  little  awe  of 
him  still  in  her  heart,  it  didn't  show. 

"  I  have,"  she  said.  "  Yes'm,  I  have.  Wanalasset, 
N.  J.  No  mosquitoes  (I  don't  in  the  least  believe 
that)  and  a  dear  little  concrete  bungalow  that  cuddles 
in  between  the  woods  and  the  lake  just  the  way  I 
want  it.  Easy  access  to  — " 

"  Are  there  any  policemen  near? "  interrupted 
Cousin  Jenny  as  Rosamond  was  about  to  recite  more 
paragraphs  of  a  recently  devoured  booklet. 


TOUCHING  THE  ELEPHANT  11 

"  My  circular  didn't  say,  or  the  letter  from  the 
agent,"  said  Rosamond.  "  I  suppose  they  thought 
it  would  sound  rude  to  say  *  no  policemen,'  as  if  you 
were  a  desperate  character,  and  it  might  be  an  object 
to  you  whether  they  were  there  or  not.  But  there's 
a  heavenly  view,  and  a  telephone.  And  of  course 
there'll  be  the  Livonian  bloodhound.  I  understand 
they  can  pull  down  two  men  at  one  spring,  at  least 
the  one  in  my  novel  did.  I'll  get  him  as  soon  as  I 
can.  But  I  expect  I'll  be  busy  for  a  while,  realising 
dreams.  I  won't  have  such  a  lot  of  time  to  think 
about  policemen.  I'm  awfully  behind  —  just  think, 
eighteen  years  of  things  I  wasn't  allowed  to  have,  to 
catch  up  with !  " 

Rosamond  was  beginning  to  feel  a  little  daunted 
by  all  these  arguments,  and  it  occurred  to  her  that 
it  would  be  a  very  nice  thing  if  middle-aged  people 
didn't  always  try  to  take  the  courage  out  of  you. 
But  she  went  on  bravely. 

"  I  told  you,  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  try  telling 
fortunes  for  people,  card  or  palm.  I  do  it  lots  better 
than  most  of  the  ones  you  pay  fifty  cents  to  for  it. 
And  — "  Rosamond's  face  turned  elfish  again  — "  re 
alising  dreams  for  people.  Large  dreams,  so  much. 
Medium-sized  dreams,  so  much.  And  perhaps  little 
ones  thrown  in  free,  if  my  clients  are  very  nice  and 
need  dreams  dreadfully.  '  Why  not  ?  '  said  the  Cat 
erpillar." 

She  leaned  back  again  and  smiled  bravely^  at  Cousin 


12  WHY  NOT? 

Jenny.  She  did  love  her  cousin  very  much,  and 
wanted  to  please  her.  But  when  you've  been  severely 
brought  up,  and  your  first  chance  of  freedom  is  sing 
ing  its  triumph-song  to  you,  especially  when  what 
you  want  to  do  isn't  one  bit  of  harm,  why  —  it's  very 
hard  to  give  up  just  because  people  say  you  should. 

"Well,  I  hope  you'll  think  better  of  it,"  said 
Cousin  Jenny  weakly.  Somehow  the  references  to  the 
Caterpillar  unnerved  her.  She  was  so  limp  by  this 
time,  to  tell  the  truth,  that  she  did  not  feel  fit  for 
further  argument.  Besides  —  well,  besides,  to  poor 
Cousin  Jenny,  who  had  never  realised  that  she  could 
say  "Why  not?"  to  anything  in  the  course  of  her 
whole  well-trained  life,  there  was  a  feeling  in  the  room 
of  gay  adventure.  Seeing  confident  young  Rosa 
mond  faring  forth  on  her  quest  for  happiness  felt 
almost  like  reading  one  of  the  paper  novels  Cousin 
Jenny's  starved  soul  fed  on,  where  all  the  beautiful 
impossibilities  you  must  not  hope  for  yourself  are 
coming  to  the  heroine  in  the  last  chapter. 

"  Don't  do  anything  rash  till  you've  told  me  about 
it  first,  will  you,  dear?  "  she  pleaded,  rising.  "  What 
—  what  are  you  planning  right  now?  " 

"  Nothing  so  very  awful,"  said  Rosamond,  smiling. 
"  I  am  going  to  buy  myself  the  Japanese  doll  with 
a  squeak  that  Grand-Uncle  Alvin  wouldn't  let  me  have 
when  I  was  seven.  Then  I  shall  get  a  pink  saucer 
and  a  jar  of  double  cream,  and  feed  the  thin  cat  I 


TOUCHING  THE  ELEPHANT  13 

always  meet  opposite  Green's  livery  stable.  Then 
I  shall  get  some  clothes  I  need,  and  some  tacks  —  you 
always  need  tacks  when  you  move.  Then  I  shall  pack, 
and  leave  for  Wanalasset,  to  become  a  professional 
Realiser  of  Dreams.  And,  oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you, 
I  won't  catch  cold,  because  my  bungalow  has  a  fire 
place,  almost  exactly  like  ours  here  that  Grand- 
Uncle  Alvin  always  kept  boarded  up  because  he 
thought  it  was  unhealthy." 

Cousin  Jenny  rose  to  go.  She  knew  very  well  that 
George  would  spend  all  supper-time  telling  her  things 
she  should  have  said,  when  he  got  home  that  night 
and  was  given  the  dutiful  report  of  the  day  she  always 
made  him.  But  she  said  no  more.  There  seemed 
somehow  nothing  more  to  say. 

"I'll  be  back  to-morrow,"  she  said,  hesitating  at 
the  door. 

But  before  the  next  afternoon  there  came  a  large, 
nubbly  package  to  Cousin  Jenny's  house.  It  was 
there  before  she  had  time  to  dress  to  go  over  to  Rosa 
mond's.  And  pinned  to  the  top  of  it  was  a  note 
directed  in  Rosamond's  own  hand. 

"  I  forget  to  tell  you,"  it  said,  "  that  I've  rented 
the  house  at  Wanalasset.  And  I've  gone  there  with 
the  elephant.  Here  is  a  present  to  remember  me  by. 
Don't  forget  that  I  love  you  very  much,  and  that 
there's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  have  everything 


14  WHY  NOT? 

you  want,  if  you  only  think  so.     *  Why  not  ?  said 
the  Caterpillar.' 

"Your  loving 

"  ROSAMOND." 

Cousin  Jenny  opened  the  parcel  with  hands  that 
shook. 

"  It's  a  dress-length,"  she  told  herself,  but  she  knew 
better. 

Under  the  papers  lay,  magnificent,  black-glittering, 
a  child's  magic-lantern. 

Cousin  Jenny  forgot  that  she  ought  to  telephone 
to  George  to  rescue  Rosamond  from  the  concrete 
bungalow  of  her  desire,  where  she  was  even  now  doubt 
less  being  happy  in  dreams  of  stars  and  a  striped 
bloodhound.  But.  .  .  . 

"I  knew  I  could  get  those  slides  right  the  first 
time,"  she  said  musingly.  She  ran  across  the  room 
like  a  young  girl,  and  shut  out  the  afternoon  sun 
light.  "  I  wonder,"  she  said  happily,  "  if  thumb 
tacks  would  hold  up  the  sheet?  " 


CHAPTER  TWO 

THE  SQUIRE 

ROSAMOND,  sitting  on  the  train  with  the  ivory 
elephant  in  her  lap,  was  quite  as  happy  as  it  is 
possible  to  be  in  this  world  of  grief.  The  last  time 
she  had  gone  over  this  route  had  been  an  orgy  of 
window-opening  and  window-shutting,  of  picking  up 
glasses  and  transmitting  quite  useless  inquiries  to 
very  bored  conductors;  and  the  conductors  had  — 
this  was  the  worst  part  of  it  —  been  so  uniformly 
sympathetic!  To-day  they  only  looked  at  her  with 
interest,  and  that  was  probably  because  it  is  not 
specially  ordinary  for  pretty  girls  to  travel  with 
ivory  elephants,  even  when  the  elephants  are  done  up 
in  flowered  tea-cosies,  all  but  their  heads. 

Rosamond  watched  the  telegraph-poles  ducking 
past  the  windows,  and  made  happy  plans. 

"  I'll  get  into  the  summer-resort  a  little  way  from 
my  bungalow  about  three,"  she  planned.  "  That 
ought  to  give  me  time  to  see  my  nice  agent.  I 
wonder  what  he  looks  like?  His  telephone  voice  (how 
Uncle  Alvin  would  have  had  a  fit  at  'phoning  long 
distance!)  •. —  it  sounded  as  if  he  was  thin  and  bald, 

but   kind-hearted.  ...  I   don't   see  why    an   agent 

15 


16  WHY  NOT? 

shouldn't  be  kind-hearted!"  she  protested  mentally 
to  an  echo  of  what  Grand-Uncle  Alvin  would  have  said 
at  this  point. 

She  planned  to  select  what  furniture  she  needed 
from  the  house  she  had  left  behind,  before  its  tenants 
should  come  in.  There  was  enough  to  spare  plenty. 
She  thought  she  had  better  see  her  bungalow  in — : 
literally  —  the  concrete,  before  she  chose  what  to  take. 
There  were  some  very  good  old  pieces  in  Uncle  Alvin's 
house,  and  one  old  coloured  print  of  the  Constitution 
doing  something  —  she  could  hardly  remember  what 
—  to  the  Guerriere,  was  worth  untold  gold,  she  re 
membered. 

"  Not  foxed  a  bit,  and  TWflr-vellous  margins ! "  the 
old  gentlemen  who  had  occasionally  dropped  in  on 
her  grand-uncle  were  wont  to  remark. 

"  Maybe  I  can  sell  it  to  somebody  who  appreciates 
its  unfoxyness,"  decided  Rosamond.  "  If  it  has 
marvellous  margins  and  all  that,  it  ought  to  buy  me 
two  or  three  of  the  kind  of  pictures  I  want  myself, 
nice  cheerful  mur ally-looking  things.  If  it  has  a 
good  home  and  kind  treatment  with  people  that  will 
appreciate  it,  it  oughtn't  to  kick." 

The  train  arrived,  and  she  took  her  suit-case  in 
one  hand,  and  her  tea-cosied  elephant  in  the  other, 
and  sprang  out. 

"  Thank  goodness  I  don't  live  here!  "  she  said ;  for 
the  summer  resort  avenged  itself  for  having  to  be 
neat  and  pretty  over  by  the  ocean,  by  being  as  ugly 


THE  SQUIRE  17 

as  it  could  where  the  trains  came  in.  But  her  agent's 
sign  spread  near,  in  sight  of  the  station  — •  that  was 
one  comfort. 

The  office,  when  she  entered,  seemed  to  be  empty 
except  for  one  man.  But  he  was  tall  and  broad 
enough  to  make  up  for  nearly  two  ordinary-sized 
ones,  and  sitting  very  still  in  a  swivel-chair  behind  a 
desk. 

"  I've  come  to  see  the  concrete  six-room  bungalow 
up  on  the  lake,  that  I  telephoned  you  about!"  said 
Rosamond,  coming  in  like  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  "  Oh, 
what  a  lovely  cat  you  have!  (I'm  Miss  Gilbert.)" 

"  It  is  a  nice  cat,"  said  the  agent  consideringly. 
He  was  a  rather  quiet-spoken  person,  with  black 
thick  hair  and  small  black  side-whiskers,  and  the  gen 
eral  upstanding,  fresh-coloured  air  of  one  of  the  Eng 
lish  Squires  in  Grand-Uncle  Alvin's  Morland  pic 
tures.  He  smiled  at  her  in  quite  a  fatherly  way,  and 
she  sat  down  and  picked  up  the  cat. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  and  see  the  bungalow 
now?  "  he  asked,  without  a  bit  of  the  preliminaries 
or  red  tape  Rosamond  had  braced  herself  for. 

"  Oh,  may  I,  now?  "  said  she  radiantly,  all  the  little 
loosened  curls  around  her  face  nodding  joyously  with 
her  little  jump  of  pleasure.  Her  cheeks  burned  rose- 
red,  as  they  always  did  when  she  was  happy. 

The  agent  smiled  again,  involuntarily. 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  take  you  there,"  he  said. 
"  I  can  take  you  up  in  a  carriage  now,  or,  if  you 


18  WHY  NOT? 

would  rather  wait  a  half-hour,  we  can  go  up  in  the 
motor-car." 

"  Oh,  the  motor-car,  please ! "  said  Rosamond. 
"And  could  you  take  a  few  things  up  in  it?  Is  it 
a  big  car?  Would  you  mind?  " 

Nobody  would  have  minded,  with  Rosamond's  be 
seeching  brown  eyes  on  theirs  like  a  hungry  collie's. 
The  agent  may  have  breathed  a  silent  prayer  that 
the  "  few  things  "  wouldn't  be  a  bedroom  set  or  any 
thing  like  that,  but  he  only  expressed  aloud  an  ardent 
desire  to  fill  the  tonneau  with  anything  Rosamond 
wanted. 

"  Then  may  I  leave  my  elephant  on  your  hands  till 
I  come  back  —  and  my  suit-case?  "  asked  Rosamond, 
dimpling. 

When  the  agent  said  she  could,  she  fled  out  the 
door,  and  was  out  of  sight  almost  before  the  agent 
had  closed  it  courteously  after  her. 

"  Milk,"  she  said  to  herself  consideringly,  "  and 
bread  and  butter  and  eggs.  And  a  frying-pan  and 
a  spoon.  I  have  cups  and  a  plate  in  my  suit 
case.  .  .  .  And  a  cot  and  blankets." 

Milkmen  generally  live  in  the  wilds  of  somewhere 
else,  it  has  been  observed,  perhaps  because  they  have 
to  stay  close  to  their  cows  and  see  that  they  are  con 
tented.  So  Rosamond  found  none.  She  had  to  con> 
promise  on  condensed  cream  and  coffee.  She  bought 
candles,  too,  in  case  the  lights  weren't  turned  on ; 
two  tall  twisted  red  ones  with  gilt  on  them.  She 


THE  SQUIRE  19 

loved  candles,  and  these  were  only  five  cents  apiece. 
She  had  always  imagined  —  she  had  wanted  them  so 
badly  —  that  they  would  be  at  least  a  dollar  a  pair. 

She  lingered  so  long  over  the  buying  of  them  that 
she  had  to  get  the  other  things  in  a  comparative 
hurry.  Even  so,  she  was  back  at  the  agent's  inside 
the  allotted  half-hour.  There  were  more  agents  there 
now,  but  her  particular  one,  the  big  man  with  the  little 
black  side-whiskers,  was  waiting  for  her  at  the  door. 
He  looked  more  like  an  English  Squire  in  a  coloured 
picture  than  ever. 

"  I'm  ready,"  she  said  to  him  breathlessly.  "  It 
was  only  some  butter  and  some  candles  and  things 
—  oh,  and  —  just  one  cot." 

She  was  in  the  machine  before  she  got  around  to 
mentioning  the  cot,  because  she  had  an  idea  that  it 
would  be  just  as  well  to  have  him  committed  to  carry 
ing  her  before  he  heard  the  worst.  But  he  only 
smiled. 

"  Just  a  minute,"  he  said,  standing  by  the  side, 
" 1  have  to  say  something  to  Simpson." 

Simpson,  a  small,  nervous  person,  was  said  the 
something  to,  the  agent  got  back  into  his  seat  with 
a  swiftness  unexpected  in  so  big  a  man,  and  they 
were  off.  Rosamond  decided  that  he  must  be  about 
six  feet  two. 

"  The  cot's  waiting  for  me  at  the  store  on  the  next 
corner,"  she  said  meekly.  She  still  felt  deprecating. 
It  was  such  a  big,  shiny  car  (it  was  of  the  Rolls- 


20  WHY  NOT? 

Royce  persuasion,  though  at  that  period  of  Rosa 
mond's  life  one  car  looked  exactly  like  another  to 
her)  that  it  seemed  rude  to  it  to  use  it  for  mere 
butter-and-cot-carrying. 

But  whether  the  agent's  early  manners  had  been  so 
carefully  formed  that  he  couldn't  look  otherwise  than 
pleased  when  in  company,  no  matter  how  he  felt,  or 
whether  he  was  happy  in  the  idea  of  bungalow-pur 
chase  that  the  cot  implied,  he  smiled  as  cheerfully  as 
if  his  car  had  been  built  for  a  delivery-wagon. 

"  We'll  stop  for  the  cot,  then,"  he  said;  and  not 
only  did  stop  for  it  but  superintended  its  bringing 
out,  and  put  it  in  the  machine  himself.  Then  they 
went  swiftly  bungalow-ward,  the  cot  sticking  rakishly 
out  of  the  corner  of  the  car,  like  a  cigar  in  a  man's 
mouth. 

"  The  bungalow's  west  of  us  about  a  mile  and  a 
half,"  remarked  the  agent,  speeding  up  a  little. 

"  You  haven't  at  all  the  kind  of  voice  you  had 
over  the  telephone,"  said  Rosamond,  holding  on  to 
her  hat. 

The  agent  turned  to  look  at  her,  leaning  toward 
him  with  both  pretty  gloved  hands  framing  her  face. 

"Telephone?"  said  he.  "  Oh,  I  see.  But  it 
wasn't  I  who  telephoned  you,  you  know.  It  was  the 
agent." 

At  these  astonishing  words  Rosamond  let  go  her  hat 
in  order  to  gasp  better. 

"Aren't  you  the  agent?"  said  she. 


THE  SQUIRE  21 

He  shook  his  head.  "Why,  no,"  he  said.  "I 
thought  you  knew.  I'm  the  owner." 

"  Oh!  "  said  Rosamond,  and  looked  him  over  from 
a  new  point  of  view. 

"  You  really  do  look  lots  more  like  an  owner  than 
an  agent,"  she  conceded  happily.  "  I'm  awfully 
glad." 

She  had  visions  of  him,  on  the  spot,  calling  on 
quarter-day  and  lashing  his  gaiters  with  a  whip, 
while  she  wore  a  smock-frock  and  curtsied  as  she 
handed  out  the  rent.  She  had  forgotten  for  the  mo 
ment  that  she  was  going  to  buy. 

"  Have  you  got  an  ancestral  domain  —  with  hounds 
grouped  on  the  front  lawn  ?  "  she  demanded.  She 
didn't  quite  dare  ask  him  if  he  was  a  Master  of 
Foxhounds,  because  she'd  heard  that  they  had 
nothing  nearer  a  fox  in  these  parts  than  an  anise-seed 
bag. 

"  And  you  can't  very  well  ask  a  man  if  he's  a 
Master  of  Anise-seed-Baghounds,"  she  thought 
swiftly. 

He  laughed,  and  Rosamond  decided  that  in  spite 
of  the  black  side-whiskers  he  was  younger  than  she 
had  thought. 

"  Something  of  the  sort,"  he  said.  "  But  my  dogs 
are  mostly  bulls,  and  the  bungalow  we're  going  to 
see  isn't  ancestral  in  the  very  least.  I  put  it  up  for 
a  sort  of  study  about  two  years  ago.  My  own  place 
is  a  half-mile  back  of  it." 


23  WHY  NOT? 

He  stopped  abruptly,  because  he  had  been  on  the 
verge  of  confiding  to  this  joyful  young  stranger  with 
the  pink  cheeks  and  brown  eyes  and  tonneau  full  of 
cot,  his  private  reason  for  building  that  bungalow, 
when  here  was  a  perfectly  good  ancestral  domain 
only  a  half-mile  away.  The  reason  was  quite  per 
sonal,  having  been  a  need  to  escape  at  intervals  from 
a  much-loved  but  very  trying  mother,  who  had  since 
died. 

"  I  must  tell  you,"  he  continued,  "  that  my  only 
reason  for  selling  the  bungalow  is  that  the  public, 
that  summer-resort  crowd,  has  a  right-of-way  up  from 
the  lake  through  the  wood,  within  hearing  distance  of 
the  place.  I've  made  up  my  mind  that  I'd  rather 
part  with  the  place  altogether  than  be  worried  by 
people  yelping  '  Along  Came  Ruth '  all  day  whenever 
I  want  to  be  quiet  or  think." 

Rosamond  reflected  that  nothing  could  be  better 
for  the  profession  she  intended  adopting,  but  all  she 
said  was : 

"  I'm  so  sorry  —  but  I  don't  mind  a  bit  myself, 
because  I  almost  never  think.  But  it's  very  nice  of 
you  to  be  honest  and  tell  me ! " 

They  had  reached  a  place  now  where  the  road  be 
came  discouraged  with  life,  and  reduced  itself  to  a 
mere  footpath. 

"  We'll  have  to  walk  now,"  he  explained. 

"Don't  you  tie  your  auto  to  a  tree  or  some 
thing?  "  suggested  Rosamond  prudently. 


THE  SQUIRE  £3 

"It  isn't  necessary,"  he  explained.  "This  is  all 
my  land,  and  people  don't  trespass  much." 

So  they  crossed  together  through  a  strip  of  wood 
land  which  Rosamond  inwardly  hoped  she  would  be 
allowed  to  trespass  in  Then  there  was  a  fence  — 
the  gentleman  evidently  liked  privacy  —  and  inside 
it  stood,  white  and  low  and  quaint,  the  bungalow  of 
her  dream. 

"  Oh ! "  she  said  rapturously,  "  it  looks  just  like 
its  photograph ! " 

"Well,  what  did  you  expect?"  asked  the  Squire, 
looking  amused.  "  Things  are  apt  to,  you  know." 

"  People  always  warn  you  that  they  aren't  going 
to,"  said  Rosamond  mournfully,  "  at  least  old  people 
do—" 

She  stopped  in  terror  —  there  was  no  knowing  how 
old  the  Squire  was :  and  she  knew,  by  her  experiences 
with  Grand-Uncle  Alvin,  that  if  you  want  things  out 
of  men  you  had  better  be  very  ingratiating  in  your 
ways  till  the  gift's  over.  She  eyed  the  Squire  fur 
tively  again.  Nobody  who  was  young  and  happy 
could  want  to  wear  a  little  oblong  black  whisker  be 
fore  each  ear:  but  on  the  other  hand  nobody  who 
was  old  and  decrepit  could  pick  up  a  cot  with  a 
bundle  of  blankets  tied  to  it,  and  tuck  it  into  a 
tonneau  with  one  hand.  Oh,  well,  people  didn't  ever 
think  they  were  old  anyway,  whether  they  were  or 
not.  She  took  heart  again,  and  the  Squire  unlocked 
the  door  and  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass  through. 


24  WHY  NOT? 

"  It  is  going  to  be  a  realisation ! "  she  cried  before 
she  had  time  to  think.  Then  she  pulled  herself  up. 
But  after  all  one's  landlord  has  a  right  to  know  some 
things,  and  this  one  looked  so  very  interested! 

"  A  realisation  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Has  it  hot  and  cold  water  and  —  and  matches  ?  " 
asked  Rosamond  hurriedly,  repenting. 

"  It  has,"  he  said.  "  Also  stationary  tubs,  por 
celain  bath,  and  electricity.  So  you  won't  really 
need  the  matches,  though  I'll  throw  them  in.  But 
why  realisation  ?  " 

He  seemed  persistent.  She  could  see  him  evicting 
her  if  she  didn't  tell. 

"  It's  —  it's  just  nonsense,"  she  said,  suddenly 
shy.  "  I'll  tell  you  after  I've  bought  the  house,  if 
you  don't  mind,  Squire." 

For  some  reason  the  Squire  looked,  for  a  moment, 
acutely  surprised.  But  "  It  has  six  rooms,  you  see," 
was  all  he  said.  "  I  am  willing  to  paper  it  freshly 
for  you  if  you  like,  or  have  the  walls  distempered  over 
again." 

Rosamond  followed  him  from  room  to  room,  with 
rapture.  Downstairs  there  was  a  big  living-room 
with  a  fireplace,  a  dining-room  with  a  heavenly  bay- 
window  and  lavishly-planned  diamond-paned,  built-in 
closets.  The  kitchen  was  all  blue,  with  a  gas-range 
and  tiling.  Upstairs  there  were  three  bedrooms,  each 
duly  fireplaced,  and  a  bath.  The  walls  were  all  she 
could  desire,  rough  and  tinted. 


THE  SQUIRE  25 

"  You  needn't  repaper  at  all,"  she  said  graciously, 
quite  unconscious  that  repapering  is  a  boon  rarely 
conferred  on  the  ordinary  purchaser.  "  That  is,  ex 
cept  my  own  bedroom.  That  is  going  to  have  pink 
roses  with  silver  stripes  behind  them,  and  little 
cherubs  on  the  border,  if  they  can  be  found.  You 
see — "  for  the  Squire  had  had  another  attack  of 
looking  acutely  surprised  — "  I  saw  a  paper  like  that 
once  when  I  was  little.  I  wanted  it  on  my  bedroom 
wall.  But  I  never  got  it,  of  course  —  people  don't 
give  children  such  things,  even  if  they  ask  for  them 
aloud.  So  I  want  it  now  to  pay  up  for  the  then. 
Do  you  see  ?  " 

"  I  see,"  said  the  Squire  briefly,  but  with  a  curi 
ously  understanding  note  in  his  voice. 

It  was  curious,  thought  Rosamond,  but  lots  of 
people  did  see.  Who  would  have  suspected  good, 
moralising  Cousin  Jenny  of  yearnings  for  a  magic- 
lantern?  Yes,  even  a  big  black  Squire  with  bunga 
lows  to  dispose  of  might  have  dreams  he  wanted  to 
realise. 

And  then  she  looked  at  him  again,  and  decided  that 
in  his  case  at  least  she  was  wrong.  He  couldn't  — 
not  anybody  who  looked  as  sensible  and  business-like 
as  he  did. 

"  I'll  take  this  bungalow,"  she  said,  as  if  it  were 
dress-goods.  "  The  price,  I  understand,  is  two  thou 
sand  dollars.  I  should  like  a  reduction  for  cash." 

She  felt  as  if  this  was  very  grasping,  especially  as 


26  WHY  NOT? 

the  Squire  had  been  so  nice  about  repapering  and 
carrying  things ;  but  Grand-Uncle  Alvin  had  always 
said  it  to  people  he  was  buying  things  of.  Rosamond 
was  sure  it  would  be  unbusiness-like  not  to. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  Squire.  "  In  consideration 
of  its  being  cash  I  am  prepared  to  shade  the  price." 

"  Shade  "  evidently  meant  "  lower." 

"  Can  I  have  it  for  nineteen-sixty  ?  "  asked  Rosa 
mond  eagerly.  "  That  forty  dollars  would  just  — " 

She  stopped.  What  she  had  been  going  to  say 
was  that  it  would  just  build  a  nice  little  fortune-tell 
ing  booth  at  the  edge  of  the  path,  out  of  sight  of 
the  porch,  but  where  summer-resorters  couldn't  fail 
to  pass  it.  But  you  are  wiser  not  to  confide  every 
thing  to  a  prospective  seller. 

"  You  may,"  said  the  Squire  laconically.  "  But 
I  must  tell  you  that  your  deed  will  forbid  your  re 
selling  or  renting  for  five  years.  Some  brute  from 
the  boardwalk  wanted  to  buy  it  and  make  it  into  an 
ice-cream  parlour." 

"  Oh,  he  was  a  brute !  "  agreed  Rosamond,  oblivious 
of  the  comparative  status  of  a  fortune-telling  stand. 
"  No  indeed,  I  won't  sell." 

"  The  desirability  of  a  purchaser  is  more  to  me 
than  the  price,"  said  he;  and  it  sounded  so  like  a 
copy-book  heading  that  Rosamond  never  saw  it  was 
a  compliment.  "  Will  your  people  occupy  it  soon?  " 
he  inquired  as  Rosamond  knelt  down  on  the  floor  and 
began  to  explore  her  suit-case  for  the  purchase-price, 


THE  SQUIRE  27 

which  she  was  tempting  Providence  by  carrying  with 
her  in  bills. 

"  Oh,  my  parents,  you  mean? "  she  said.  "  I 
haven't  any.  I'm  almost  out  of  relatives  anyway." 

"  You  are  buying  it,  then,  for  —  whom?  "  pursued 
the  Squire. 

"  I  am  buying  it,"  said  Rosamond  firmly,  rising 
with  a  roll  of  bills  in  one  hand,  and  the  pink  bedroom 
slipper  she  had  hidden  them  in,  in  the  other,  "  for 
myself,  Anne  Rosamond  Gilbert,  two  years  over 
twenty-one  and  with  money  to  pay  for  it.  I'm  go 
ing  to  live  here  alone,  and  be  happy."  So  far  she 
was  admirably  firm  with  the  Squire,  but  she  spoiled 
the  effect  completely  by  coming  close  to  him  and 
beginning  to  coax.  "  Ah,  please  let  me  be  happy !  " 
she  said.  "  Didn't  you  ever  have  a  time  when  you 
felt  as  if  you'd  been  told  what  to  do  by  your  elders 
and  betters  long  enough?  " 

The  Squire  looked,  for  the  moment,  as  if  he  had 
—  and  so  he  had,  undoubtedly,  being  human.  But 
besides  being  human  he  was  a  good  and  responsible- 
minded  man,  and  Rosamond  didn't  look  a  day  over 
eighteen. 

"  You  haven't  run  away  from  home,  my  dear 
child  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  drew  herself  up  again. 

"You  aren't  old  enough  to  be  anything  like  as 
fatherly  as  that,"  she  said  rebukingly.  "  But  as  it 
seems  you  have  to  give  a  history  of  your  past  life 


28  WHY  NOT? 

every  time  you  buy  a  little  bit  of  a  bungalow  with  a 
string  to  it  —  I  was  twenty-three  in  February.  My 
father  and  mother  died  of  pneumonia,  close  together, 
when  I  was  five.  I  have  since  resided  with  my 
mother's  uncle,  Mr.  Alvin  Sanborn,  in  East  Warren. 
He  died  a  short  time  ago.  I  have  rented  the  house 
he  lived  in,  and  I  am  buying  this  to  live  in  and  —  and 
exercise  my  profession  peacefully."  (This  last  was 
a  sudden  inspiration  meant  to  impress,  and  it  did. 
The  Squire  was  looking,  by  now,  as  apologetic  as  a 
scolded  St.  Bernard.)  "I  haven't  my  birth  or  vac 
cination  certificates  about  my  person,  but  I  gave  the 
agent  I  thought  you  were  all  necessary  references. 
And  —  and  — "  Rosamond  was  laughing  by  now  — • 
"  I've  scolded  till  I'm  out  of  breath." 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  said  the  Squire,  smiling  re- 
lievedly  as  she  seemed  likely  to  forgive  him.  "  And 
the  house  is  yours.  Only  —  pardon  me  —  but  you 
do  look  young." 

Whereupon  he  sat  down  on  the  desirable  built-in 
settle  on  the  left  side  of  the  fireplace,  and  began  to 
write  something  on  a  torn-in-two  envelope  with  his 
fountain-pen. 

"  I  haven't  the  title-deeds  about  my  person,"  he 
said,  "  any  more  than  you  have  your  vaccination  — 
wasn't  it?  —  certificate.  But  I'll  draw  up  an  in 
formal  agreement  now,  so  you'll  be  sure  the  house  is 
yours,  and  to-morrow  we  can  finish  things  at  the 
office." 


THE  SQUIRE  29 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  "  said  Rosamond.  "  And  would 
you  mind  just  keeping  the  money?  You  may  have 
a  safe  or  something  up  at  your  ancestral  domain,  and 
I  don't  see  any  here." 

"  You  aren't  going  to  stay  here  all  alone  to 
night  ?  "  demanded  the  Squire,  in  spite  of  his  late 
lesson. 

Rosamond  sat  down  on  the  right-hand  settle  and 
smiled  at  him.  "  Why  not?"  said  she,  suppressing, 
however,  any  reference  to  her  authority  the  Cater 
pillar.  "  Aren't  there  any  neighbours  ?  " 

"  My  house  and  this  are  connected  by  telephone," 
he  said,  "  but  your  nearest  neighbours  are  a  settle 
ment  of  poor  families  a  little  way  below  the  rise  here, 
on  the  Ames  Lane  Road." 

"  Isn't  it  a  lovely  sunset  ? "  replied  Rosamond 
sweetly.  "  And  thank  you  so  much  for  bringing  up 
my  things.  Would  you  mind  getting  them  for  me 
now?" 

The  Squire  lifted  one  black  eyebrow.  He  had  the 
gift,  so  highly  valued  by  such  as  own  it,  of  working 
them  separately. 

"  Certainly,"  said  he,  and  went  straight  after  them. 
If  they  had  been  friends  of  long  standing  one  might 
have  inferred  that  the  Squire  wanted  to  shake  Rosa 
mond.  But  he  was  evidently  unbreakably  polite. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  sweetly  when  he  returned 
cot-laden.  She  stood  framed  in  her  newly-acquired 
doorway,  looking  as  gentle  and  yielding  as  possible. 


60  WHY  NOT? 

The  Squire,  who  had  the  cot  under  one  arm,  and  the 
groceries,  ingeniously  swung  in  the  blankets,  dangling 
from  the  other,  said  severely,  "  You  are  very  welcome. 
Shall  I  put  it  up  for  you  ?  "  He  was  referring  to  the 
cot. 

"  Oh,  no,  don't  bother,"  said  she.  "  And  I'll  meet 
you  at  the  agent's  at  ten-thirty.  And  —  would  you 
mind  telling  me  your  name  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  as  if  he  did  not  in  the  least  be 
lieve  his  ears. 

"  Why,  you've  been  calling  me  by  it ! "  he  said. 
"  Squire.  John  Squire." 

Rosamond  looked  at  him  blankly.  Then  she  caught 
her  breath.  Then,  dropping  the  pink  slipper  that  she 
had  held  all  this  time,  she  sat  down  on  the  doorstep 
and  laughed  and  laughed  and  laughed. 

"I  —  I'll  explain  to-morrow,"  she  explained  be 
latedly  to  John  Squire's  back.  For  the  second  time 
he  had  walked  swiftly  away.  And  presently  she 
heard  his  machine,  too,  retreating. 

"  And  I  believe  he  has  my  condensed  cream ! "  said 
Rosamond. 


CHAPTER  THREE 

ALICIA  LAUEETTA 

THE  Squire  —  or  John  Squire  —  evidently,  in 
spite  of  walking  off  that  way,  had  feudal  ideas 
about  the  stranger  within  his  gates.  Rosamond  had 
finished  her  supper  and  put  up  her  cot,  and  was  bask 
ing  in  the  rays  of  an  excellent  pink-and-gold  sunset, 
remembering  pleasantly  that  she  hadn't  to  wash  her 
dishes  till  she  got  ready.  And  up  the  footpath  ap 
peared,  coming  slowly  and  heavily,  like  the  genius  of 
everything  she  had  fled  from,  a  black  elderly  figure. 

"I'm  Martha,  one  of  the  servants  from  Mr. 
Squire's,  miss,"  the  figure  informed  her.  "  Mr. 
Squire  sent  me  up  to  stay  all  night  with  you." 

"  That  was  very  kind  of  him,"  said  Rosamond  un 
truthfully,  "  but  you  see  —  but  I  haven't  anything 
for  you  to  sleep  on." 

"  That'll  be  all  right,  miss,"  said  Martha  placidly, 
setting  down  a  small  satchel.  "  One  of  the  men  will 
be  here  in  a  minute  now  with  everything  like  that." 

"  How  did  you  get  here  ?  "  inquired  Rosamond  with 
a  gentleness  which  meant  that  she  was  exceedingly 

near  losing  her  temper. 

31 


32  WHY  NOT? 

*'  In  the  little  cart,  miss,"  said  Martha  agreeably. 
"  It  can  get  nearer  here  than  anything  else.  It's 
gone  back  now  for  bedding  and  such." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Rosamond  ominously. 

She  sat  down  on  the  settle  and  picked  up  the  other 
half  of  the  envelope  the  Squire  had  written  his  in 
formal  agreement  on. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Squire,"  she  wrote  blackly  with  a  stubby 
pencil,  "  my  purchase-price  was  not  intended  to  de 
fray  the  cost  of  a  personal  keeper,  merely  of  the 
building  and  land.  With  this  please  find  the  keeper 
returned  to  you.  Yours  truly,  A.  R.  GILBEET." 

"  Would  you  mind  going  back  in  the  little  cart 
and  taking  this  to  your  master  ?  "  she  asked  Martha 
sweetly. 

"  Not  at  all,  miss,"  said  the  well-trained  Martha, 
and  turned  sedately  back  to  meet  the  little  cart. 

Rosamond  stood  by  the  door  feeling  deeply 
wronged.  Meanwhile  the  men  solemnly  carried  in 
the  cot  for  Martha,  with  a  certain  air  of  its  being 
an  informal  funeral.  Rosamond  watched  them  stonily 
till  they  went  away  again.  She  was  still  standing 
rigidly  wronged,  though  the  position  was  growing  a 
little  tiring,  when  —  Martha  came  back.  With  her, 
mournful  but  still  determined,  came  the  Squire! 

"  This  is  oppression  1 "  said  Rosamond.  "  I 
thought  I  explained  to  you.  I'm  not  tenantry.  I 
am  an  informally  agreed  purchaser,  and  I  didn't  buy 
Martha  when  I  bought  the  house.  (It  isn't  that 


ALICIA  LAURETTA  33 

you  aren't  as  nice  and  good  as  you  can  be,  Martha," 
she  threw  in.     "It's  a  principle.)" 

"  Here  is  your  condensed  milk,"  was  the  Squire's 
rather  commonplace  reply.  "  I  really  don't  mean  to 
oppress  you,  Miss  Gilbert.  But  I  must  insist  that 
Martha  stay  with  you  to-night." 

He  handed  her  the  can  of  evaporated  cream,  which 
looked  very  small  emerging  from  the  inside  pocket  of 
his  large  spring  overcoat,  and  —  fled.  But  still  there, 
very  much  keeping  her  place  in  more  senses  than  one, 
stood  the  quiet  and  respectful  Martha. 

Rosamond,  looking  at  her,  knew  that  the  only  way 
to  get  rid  of  her  was  to  put  her  out  bodily.  And 
Martha  was  of  a  settled  and  substantial  build,  very 
much  like  a  staid  elderly  hot-water-bag.  Well,  it  was 
only  for  one  night.  After  that  she  would  get  her 
self  some  sort  of  servant,  "  and  just  as  young  as  I 
possibly  can  find,"  she  determined.  She  smiled  her 
quick,  flashingly  affectionate  smile  at  Martha. 

"  I  have  to  go  wash  my  dishes  now,"  she  said 
sweetly.  "  Make  yourself  as  comfortable  as  you  can, 
Martha." 

"  Oh,  Til  wash  the  dishes,  miss ! "  cried  Martha,  as 
if  anything  else  would  hurt  her  feelings  badly. 

"  I'll  dry  them,  then,"  said  Rosamond :  and  over 
the  mutual  doing  of  them  (there  was  one  cup,  one 
plate,  one  knife,  fork  and  spoon,  and  a  sauce-pan) 
the  two  became  pleasantly  friendly.  After  all  it  is 
just  as  well,  the  first  night  in  a  strange  house. 


34  WHY  NOT? 

Rosamond  went  out  and  sat  on  her  informally 
agreed  doorstep,  and  watched  little  white  stars  coming 
out  and  dropping  doubles  of  themselves  into  the 
brown  lake-water,  and  was  so  happy  that  even  a 
butler  and  two  footmen  in  the  room  beyond  wouldn't 
have  worried  her.  She  had  a  half-mind  to  lie  down 
on  the  grass  then  and  there  and  look  up  at  the  stars, 
but  —  the  grass  looked  a  little  chilly.  After  all  it 
was  only  May,  and  the  grass  was  going  to  keep  on 
belonging  to  her  forever  and  ever  and  ever !  So  after 
a  while  —  it  seemed  daringly  late,  but  it  was  really 
only  half-past  ten  —  she  came  in  and  went  to  bed. 
And  Martha's  even  breathing  from  the  end  room  was 
a  comfort,  after  all. 

She  met  the  Squire  next  day  at  the  agent's,  and 
signed  title-deeds  and  other  things,  then  took  a 
noon  train  back  to  East  Warren  after  her  furni 
ture. 

"  You  will  bring  back  a  servant  with  you,  some 
one  to  be  with  you  at  night?  "  inquired  the  Squire 
in  a  way  that  can  only  be  described  as  gingerly  yet 
dogged. 

He  was  walking  over  to  the  station  with  her.  As 
he  had  noiselessly  possessed  himself  of  her  suit-case 
she  couldn't  well  get  rid  of  him. 

"  Will  you  tell  me,  please,"  she  asked  in  exaspera 
tion,  "  why  people  feel  that  I  have  to  be  looked  after 
so  hard?  I  know  heaps  of  girls  who  go  around  doing 


ALICIA  LAURETTA  35 

just  exactly  what  they  please,  and  nobody  dreams  of 
worrying  at  them.  And  it  seems  to  me  as  if  every 
one  I  knew  camped  on  my  trail,  trying  to  see  that 
I'm  a  good  little  girl  and  keep  my  hands  and  face 
washed." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  Squire,  knitting  his 
straight  black  brows.  He  was  obviously  trying  to 
answer  satisfactorily.  "  There  is  something  about 
some  people,"  he  said  finally,  "  more  than  others,  that 
makes  you  feel  as  if  you  wanted  to  take  care  of  them. 
Maybe  that's  it." 

"  Whatever  it  is,"  said  Rosamond,  "  I  shall  try  to 
get  rid  of  it.  Thank  you  very  much  for  all  your 
kindnesses,  Sq  —  Mr.  Squire,  even  the  ones  I  didn't 
want." 

And  then  the  train  was  kind  enough  to  come. 

Happily,  the  moving-van  men  at  both  ends  of  her 
journey  showed  no  desire  to  take  care  of  her.  So 
she  chose  what  she  wanted  of  Grand-Uncle  Alvin's 
furniture,  had  it  sent  to  Wanalasset,  and  arranged  to 
have  it  delivered  at  her  bungalow,  without  having 
any  one  else  ask  her  questions  on  painful  subjects  like 
chaperonage. 

"  When  I'm  a  fortune-teller  they  can't  1 "  she  said 
triumphantly;  and  fell  to  sketching  on  the  receipt 
the  van-man  had  given  her  a  neat  but  not  gaudy 
fortune-telling  booth,  and  a  costume  to  wear  in  it. 

"  Hours,"  she  decided,  "  from  ten  to  four,  with 
time  for  luncheon.  And  evenings,  maybe.  And  a 


36  WHY  NOT?, 

costume.  .  .  ."  Decision  as  to  whether  the  costume 
should  be  Greek  or  Oriental  cheered  the  journey  till 
its  end. 

She  glided  stealthily  into  her  bungalow,  the  second 
morning  after  she  had  left  it,  with  a  delightfully 
triumphant  feeling  of  Eliza-having-crossed-the-ice, 
with  all  the  bloodhounds  baying  helplessly  on  the 
other  side.  She  closed  the  door  after  her  as  softly 
as  if  the  Squire  or  Cousin  George,  whom  she  credited 
with  very  much  the  same  designs  on  her  freedom, 
might  hear  it  click,  rush  down,  and  order  her  off  to 
stenography.  She  crossed  to  the  stairs  with  the  same 
etealthiness,  and  went  up  to  the  room  she  had  chosen 
as  hers,  to  change  her  suit  to  a  lighter  dress.  It  was 
a  white  dress  she  put  on,  made  exactly  like  a  gown 
of  the  first  Empire.  "  Why  not  ?  "  she  said  to  Grand- 
Uncle  Alvin's  disapproving  shade  as  she  buttoned  it 
at  the  back.  "  It  does  cheer  you  up  so  to  feel  pretty, 
and  the  frock  will  wash  as  well  as  a  checked  gingham 
one!" 

She  went  downstairs  to  watch  for  the  van-men,  who 
had  promised  to  be  there  is  an  hour  or  so.  Rosa 
mond  knew  less  than  she  was  destined  to  about  the 
manners  and  customs  of  movers,  and  she  had  an  idea 
that  they  might  be  on  time. 

She  heard,  as  she  stood  on  the  stairs,  the  sound  of 
a  window  being  cautiously  raised. 

"  Oh,  a  burglar ! "  was  her  first  dismayed  thought, 
"  and  not  one  thing  in  the  house  for  him  to  burgle ! 


ALICIA  LAURETTA  37 

And  maybe  he'll  be  cross  about  it  and  want  to  shoot 
me  before  I  can  convince  him." 

She  resolved  to  provide  something  to  appease  the 
next  one,  and  meanwhile  to  see  if  this  one  would  com 
promise  on  some  very  good  luncheon  she  had  in  her 
suit-case.  But,  tiptoeing  into  a  dusky  corner  under 
the  stairs,  where  she  could  watch  the  burglar  at  his 
doings,  she  found  that  appeasing  was  not  likely  to 
be  necessary. 

The  entrant  by  the  kitchen  window  was  only  a 
small,  barefoot  girl  in  a  blue  woollen  dress  which  had 
been  none  too  attractive  in  its  best  days,  and  was 
torn  and  stained  with  constant  wearing  till  now  it 
was  less  a  dress  than  a  cover.  Rosamond,  watching 
her,  ceased  to  be  terrified. 

"  She's  playing  house,"  she  said  to  herself,  re 
membering  her  own  solitary  plays  when  she  was  little. 

The  child  moved  about,  now  that  she  had  closed 
the  window  after  her,  with  the  calm  of  long  possession. 
She  crossed  into  the  empty  living-room  with  her 
tangled  head  held  high,  and  began  to  talk  to  herself 
in  a  slow  and  gracious  voice: 

"  I  think  I'll  wear  my  white  frock  with  the  rose- 
pink  sash  to-day,  Auntie,"  she  said.  "  And  my  white 
shoes  an' stockin's.  Oh,  my  dolly?  No,  I  ain't  goin' 
to  take  her  with  me.  We're  only  goin'  for  a  short 
drive  in  the  victroler,  you  know.  Yes,  thank  you, 
dear  Auntie.  .  .  .  No,  I  ain't  tired  —  I've  only  prac 
tised  my  pianner-lesson  a  little  bit-o-while,  an'  —  an' 


38  WHY  NOT? 

—  done  some  scrubbin'-out  for  poor  Mis'  Simmons, 
down  the  road  a  piece.  .  .  .  Yes,  it  was  kind  o'  me. 
You  know  you  says  we  orto  be  kind  to  the  poor — " 

She  sat  down  on  the  settle  for  a  moment,  as  if  her 
poor  little  scratched,  bare  legs  'were  tired,  and  took 
a  long,  involuntary  breath. 

"  I  think  she  might  make  Avalene  scrub  that  old 
floor  once  'n  a  while,"  she  remarked  to  herself  in 
quite  a  different  voice.  "  O-oh,  I'm  tired !  " 

She  leaned  her  untidy  mop  of  brown  hair  against 
the  wall,  and  shut  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  as  if  she 
really  was  very,  unchildlikely  worn  out. 

"  I  think  she  ought,  too !  "  said  Rosamond,  slipping 
out  of  her  nook.  She  ran  to  the  child  and  put  an  arm 
around  her. 

The  little  girl  did  not  move  or  seem  surprised. 

"  I  won't  do  it  again,  Auntie,"  she  said.  "  It  is 
too  much  work  fer  a  lady."  Then,  as  if  she  was 
startled  to  find  that  the  arm  about  her  was  warm  and 
real,  she  opened  her  eyes  with  a  little  cry  of  alarm. 

"  Oh,  'scuse  me,  lady,"  she  said  f rightenedly.     "  I 

—  I  was  just  pertendin'.     I  didn't  know  people  was 
here." 

"  And  you  thought  I  was  part  of  the  pretend, 
didn't  you,  dear?  "  said  Rosamond  tenderly,  still  with 
an  arm  about  the  child.  "  Does  she  really  make  you 
do  the  scrubbing  —  and  you're  as  thin  as  a  rail,  you 
poor  little  thing !  " 

"  Thin  folks  can  work  the  hardest,"  the  child  as- 


ALICIA  LAURETTA  39 

sured  her.  "Well,  it's  'cause  I'm  a  Homes-for-the- 
Homelesser,  I  s'pose.  Avalene's  her  own  daughter, 
and  course  she  favours  her  and  puts  on  me.  They 
always  do." 

"  What's  your  name,  dear?  "  asked  Rosamond. 

"  Alicia  Lauretta,"  answered  the  child  promptly. 

Rosamond  laughed.     "  No,  honey,  the  real  one !  " 

The  child  looked  down,  and  wriggled  her  bare  toes 
ashamedly. 

"Well,  it's  Allie,  then.  But  it  could  be  Alicia 
Lauretta,  couldn't  it  —  an*  just  called  Allie  for  short 
'cause  they  didn't  know  my  real  birth?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  it  could  —  why  not  ?  "  said  Rosa 
mond  soothingly. 

The  child  looked  relieved. 

"  WTiere'd  you  come  from  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly. 

66  Somewhere  inland,"  answered  Rosamond. 

"  Did  you  buy  this  house,  or  just  come  here  to 
pertend?  But  grown  folks  don't." 

"  Sometimes ! "  said  Rosamond.  "  I  may  have 
come  here  just  to  meet  you  and  help  in  your  pretend- 
ings  —  who  knows  ?  " 

"  Nobody  seems  to  be  specially  kind  to  the  poor 
little  thing,"  she  decided  inwardly.  "  And  here's  a 
splendid  chance  to  try  the  realising  of  dreams  on  the 
dog.  .  .  .  Tell  me  about  it,  won't  you  ?  "  she  coaxed 
the  child.  "  And  don't  you  want  to  wash  your  face 
and  hands  upstairs  in  the  bathroom?  The  gas- 
heater's  lighted.  Then  you  can  come  downstairs  and 


40  WHY  NOT? 

have  some  lunch  with  me  —  if  you  can  put  off  your 
drive  in  the  victrola." 

Alicia  Lauretta  looked  frightened.  She  was  a  thin 
little  thing,  tousled  and  big-eyed,  with  a  pointed  little 
face. 

'*  It  seems  like  a  pretend  yet,  just  a  wee  bit,  doesn't 
it?  "  said  Rosamond  cheerily.  "Well,  we'll  think  it 
is.  Shall  I  play  I  am  Auntie?  .  .  .  Come,  Alicia 
Lauretta  dear,  it's  time  you  had  your  bath." 

Alicia  Lauretta's  big  eyes  lighted  up,  and  she 
nestled  against  Rosamond  like  a  small  reassured  stray 
cat. 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  dear  Auntie ! "  she  said ;  and 
trotted  regally  up  the  stairs,  as  if  she  had  dwelt  in 
marble  halls  all  her  life. 

Rosamond  fished  in  her  ever-useful  suit-case  till  she 
found  her  kimona.  It  was  much  too  large,  of  course, 
but  usable. 

"  Let  me  have  your  clothes  right  away,"  she  said. 
She  proposed  to  wash  them  out.  "  Here's  a  towel 
and  soap." 

Alicia  Lauretta  poked  her  garments  obediently 
through  the  crack  of  the  bathroom  door,  and  Rosa 
mond  tore  happily  downstairs  to  wash  them.  She 
was  having  a  lovely  time. 

The  underclothes  were  a  simple  problem  enough  — 
it  was  the  blue  woollen  frock  that  presented  difficulties. 
But  Rosamond  finally  got  everything  clean.  Then 
she  swiftly  built  her  first  fire  in  her  beloved  living- 


ALICIA  LAURETTA  41 

room  fireplace,  and  improvised  twine  lines  across  it 
for  the  better  drying  of  the  poor  little  ragged  things. 
They  needed  mending  worse,  even,  than  they  had  wash 
ing,  but  there  were  no  sewing-materials  nearer  than 
the  moving-van,  wherever  that  was. 

The  clothes  had  been  steaming  before  the  fire  quite 
ten  minutes,  and  Rosamond  had  had  time  to  set  out 
on  one  of  the  settles  her  lunch  from  the  suit-case, 
before  Alicia  Lauretta  appeared.  She  was  holding 
her  draperies  up  with  a  difficulty  increased  by  the  fact 
that  one  hand  was  clutching  also  a  worn,  folded  piece 
of  paper,  obviously  precious.  She  was  very  clean, 
and  had  even  washed  her  hair. 

"  Come  close  to  the  fire,  dear,  so  your  hair  will 
dry  sooner,"  said  Rosamond  in  her  most  Auntielike 
tones.  She  put  a  pillow  from  the  cot  on  the  floor 
for  Alicia  Lauretta,  laid  a  napkin  across  her 
lap,  and  pushed  the  food  on  the  settle  within 
reach. 

The  child  sank  down  before  the  fire  with  a  happy 
little  sigh. 

"  It  don't  seem  'zactly  real  yet,"  she  said. 

Rosamond  took  her  comb  out  of  the  suit-case  and 
began  to  comb  out  the  little  girl's  hair.  It  was  pretty 
hair  if  it  had  been  properly  arranged,  thick  and 
curly.  It  began  to  dry  and  fluff  very  gracefully 
under  the  heat  of  the  fireplace. 

The  child  ate  her  lunch  in  a  species  of  happy  daze, 
and  Rosamond,  when  she  had  put  away  the  comb  and 


42  WHY  NOT? 

washed  her  hands,  lunched  too.  When  they  had  both 
finished  she  took  the  remains  of  the  food  out  to  the 
kitchen,  came  back  and  sat  down  by  Alicia  Lauretta 
again. 

"  Now  tell  Auntie  all  about  it,"  she  said. 

Alicia  looked  at  her  with  half-frightened  eyes. 

"  Do  you  believe  that,  too,  about  pretendin'  things 
makin'  'em  come  true  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  didn't, —  not 
'xactly.  But  this  is  almost  a  come-true." 

"  Why  not?  "  Rosamond  said,  smiling.  "  I  think 
people  can  generally  have  what  they  want  if  they  think 
so  —  and  go  after  it !  " 

But  this  was  beyond  Alicia  Lauretta. 

"  Well,  I  wanted  this  to  come  true,"  she  said,  open 
ing  her  clenched  hand,  and  showing  the  grimy  scrap 
of  paper  that  she  had  never  released,  all  through  her 
meal. 

Rosamond  took  it  and  smoothed  it  out.  It  was  a 
page  from  St.  Nicholas,  part  of  a  serial  story,  with 
a  Reginald  Birch  illustration  in  the  centre  of  the  page. 
A  solemn-eyed,  picturesque  Birch  little  girl  with 
clustering  curls  and  an  elaborate  frock  was  standing 
with  her  arm  around  a  pretty  young  lady  beside  her, 
and  saying,  "  We  must  be  kind  to  the  poor  —  You 
said  so,  Auntie  dear!"  The  pictured  child's  face 
was  really  not  unlike  poor  little  ragged  Alicia 
Lauretta's;  it  had  the  same  delicate  shape,  and  the 
same  big-eyed  wistfulness  of  expression. 

"I  wanted  to  be  her,"  Alicia  Lauretta  explained 


ALICIA  LAURETTA  43 

simply.  "  So  I  pertended.  Our  class  clubbed  to 
gether  an'  took  St.  Nicholas  for  the  year.  An'  it 
had  this  serial  —  Little  Lady  Loveliness  it  was  called. 
She  was  awful  rich,  an'  everybody  loved  her.  She 
lived  with  an  Auntie  that  was  awful  young  an'  pretty, 
an'  all  she  did  was  rich  things  — 'cept  when  she  got 
stolen  for  a  while.  An'  even  then  her  sweetness  dis 
armed  folks,  it  said.  (It  don't  though,  really.) 
An'  I  loved  it.  So  I  pertended  I  was  her,  an'  had 
just  been  stolen  an  awful  long  time.  But  pretty  soon 
Mis'  Simmons  took  me  an'  Avalene  out  o'  school,  cause 
we  moved  an'  it  was  too  far  to  walk.  An'  I  knew  I 
wouldn't  see  the  St.  Nicholas  no  more,  so  — "  Alicia 
Lauretta's  head  dropped  tragically  — "  I  tore  out  the 
piece  to  remember  it  by." 

She  stopped  after  this  fearful  confession,  and 
looked  as  if  she  wished  she  hadn't  told.  And  tearing 
out  a  whole  page  of  a  magazine  when  only  two  cents' 
worth  of  the  whole  year's  issue  belongs  to  you,  isn't 
a  proper  thing  for  small  girls  to  do.  Not  even  if  the 
magazine  happens  to  be  your  hungry  little  soul's 
entire  nourishment. 

But  Rosamond  didn't  feel  that  way  about  it.  She 
only  shut  her  eyes  hard  for  a  minute,  because  they 
felt  wet. 

"  Your  clothes  are  nearly  all  dry,  dear,"  was  all 
she  said.  "  You'd  better  put  them  on." 

The  dress  was  wet  still,  for  it  was  of  a  heavy  fabric, 
but  the  other  things  were  all  right  to  put  on.  "  How 


44  WHY  NOT? 

did  Mrs.  Simmons  come  to  get  you  from  the  Home 
for  the  Homeless  people  ?  "  she  asked. 

Allie's  little  face,  bent  over  the  tying  of  a  string, 
changed  suddenly  to  sullenness. 

"  I  was  throwed  on  a  screen,"  she  said  briefly. 

"  Thrown  on  a  screen ! "  said  Rosamond.  "  Did  it 
hurt?" 

"  Like  movies,"  said  Allie.  She  ceased  from  her 
efforts  to  make  an  occasional  buttonhole  coincide  with 
a  fortuitous  button,  down  the  front  of  her  dress,  and 
shut  her  mouth  tight. 

"  Ah,  tell  Auntie,"  coaxed  Rosamond  softly.  She 
knew,  whatever  the  story  was,  that  it  hurt,  but  she 
wanted  to  know,  and  help  if  she  could. 

"  It  was  a  Homes-fer-the-Homeless  lecture  in  prayer 
meeting,"  said  Allie  reluctantly.  "  They  go  round  to 
churches  throwin'  pictures  of  you  on  a  sheet,  showin' 
you  bein'  homeless.  They  take  the  pictures  of  you 
when  they  first  find  you,  as  hungry  as  anything,  to 
touch  people's  hearts.  Then  they  wash  you  and  feed 
you  an'  give  you  checked  dresses  —  but  the  picture's 
there  always  —  always!  " 

She  began  to  cry  a  little;  softly,  as  children  cry 
who  know  they  must  not  be  overheard. 

"  Mis'  Simmons  has  mine,"  she  said  fiercely.  "  She 
keeps  it  on  the  parlor  mantel  between  Avalene 
graduatin'  from  primary  an'  her  an'  the  late  Mr. 
Simmons  just  havin'  been  married.  And — and — • 
she  shows  it  to  people!  " 


ALICIA  LAURETTA  45 

"  Why,  the  brute !  "  said  Rosamond  hotly. 

On  Allie's  thin  little  face  dawned  a  most  pathetic 
expression.  She  was  being  understood,  it  said,  and 
by  a  grown  person.  Could  such  a  miracle  happen? 
She  got  up  sedately. 

"  Guess  I'd  better  be  goin',"  she  said. 

"  Come  back  to-morrow,  dear,"  said  Rosamond. 
"  I'll  have  my  furniture  in  by  then,  and  you  can  watch 
me  arrange  it  and  put  up  the  pictures.  I'm  almost 
sure  I  have  some  fairy-books  you'd  like." 

But  Allie  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  can,"  she  said  wistfully.  "  You 
see,  I'm  really  a  very  good  worker,  but  Mis'  Simmons 
thinks  she'd  rather  have  a  husky  nigger.  And  she 
says  I  got  uppity  ways  —  not  wantin'  the  baby  to 
use  my  toothbrush  too,  an'  things  like  that.  She  says 
a  nigger  won't  be  so  apt  to  put  on  airs.  An'  she's 
heard  from  the  Homeless  woman  —  she's  comin'  to 
morrow." 

Rosamond  shivered. 

"  And  what  will  happen  to  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Whatever  'tis,  'twon't  be  Mis'  Simmons,  any 
way,"  said  Allie  drearily.  <c  Only  —  only  I  wisht  I 
was  pretty.  Maybe  'f  I  was  they'd  somebody  adopt 
me,  where  there  was  pettin',  an'  a  bathtub.  Well, 
good-bye,  an'  thank  you.  It  was  a  very  nice  bath, 
an'  the  sandwiches  was  great." 

She  turned  to  go,  buttoning  herself  up  as  she  went : 
a  thin  little  drooping  figure,  pathetically  unexpectant 


46  WHY  NOT? 

of  anything  that  was  a  free  gift.  An' — -  an' —  thank 
you  fer  bein'  a  pertend-Auntie,"  she  said  brokenly. 

Rosamond  made  a  swift  spring,  and  caught  the 
mournful  little  figure  in  her  arms. 

"You  needn't  go,  Allie!"  she  said.  "You  send 
that  Homes-for-the-Homeless  woman  to  me  when  she 
comes.  I'm  going  to  have  you  live  with  me.  I'll  be 
your  Auntie ! " 

"  Oh!  "  said  Allie.  She  gave  a  long,  quivering  sigh 
of  delight,  and  held  convulsively  to  Rosamond  for  a 
minute.  "  Oh,  pertends  do  come  true,  if  you  only 
think  they  will!" 

"  Why,  of  course  they  do !  "  Rosamond  said. 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

THE  KNIGHTLY  LOVER 

4 '  1  1 UT  why  not  ?  "  Rosamond  inquired  of  John 
fj  Squire  some  days  later.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  she  had  to  make  that  remark  to  him  oftener  than 
to  anybody  else  she  had  ever  met.  "  She  says  she'll 
do  all  my  scrubbing  *  awful  particular,'  and  she's 
lots  fonder  of  me  than  —  than  lots  of  people  are." 

66  Are  you  going  to  have  her  scrub?  "  he  inquired. 
For  no  visible  reason,  her  last  remark  had  made  the 
even,  English-looking  colour  in  his  cheeks  climb  up 
past  his  black  side-whiskers,  till  it  reached  the  shelter 
of  his  equally  black  hair. 

"  He's  all  red  and  white  and  black,  like  a  court 
card,"  thought  Rosamond,  as  she  answered  him  with 
that  firmness  which  she  kept  for  him  and  Cousin 
George  alone: 

"  I  shall  not  make  her  scrub,  nor  shall  I  beat  her,, 
nor  make  her  use  a  communal  towel  and  toothbrush, 
as  I  understand  her  late  owner  did." 

Mr.  Squire,  who  was  sitting  on  the  lower  step  of 
the  porch,  looked  aghast. 

"  Good  Heavens ! "  he  said,  like  the  man  in  Ibsen, 
66 1  didn't  know  people  did  such  things  !  " 

47 


48  WHY  NOT? 

"  They  do,"  said  Rosamond :  to  them  both  the 
toothbrush  episode  seemed  much  more  tragic  than  the 
beatings.  And  it  had  probably  seemed  so  to  Allie, 
for  she  had  mentioned  it  with  much  more  feeling  than 
she  gave  to  a  casual  reference  to  "  strappings." 

"  Then  what  on  earth  do  you  want  the  child  for?  " 
he  asked  perplexedly,  looking  up  at  Rosamond.  She 
was  going  to  be  firm  again,  but  she  suddenly  found 
out  that  he  had  grey  eyes,  not  black,  as  he  should 
have  had  to  be  properly  consistent :  large  steady  dark- 
grey  eyes,  so  heavily  black-lashed  that  you  might  know 
him  for  years,  and  never  discover  the  truth  about 
their  colour  except  by  an  accident,  as  Rosamond  had 
done. 

There  is  no  reason  why  the  discovery  that  a  man 
has  grey  eyes  instead  of  black  should  make  you  sorry 
for  him;  but  for  some  reason  it  did  have  that  effect 
on  Rosamond,  and  she  answered  him  as  if  he  were 
almost  human  instead  of  the  living  Don't  she  usually 
regarded  him.  Anyway,  she  had  lured  him  hither 
herself,  to  coax  out  of  him  a  grass  mat  for  the  porch, 
and  a  signed  belief  that  she  was  staid  and  responsible 
enough  to  be  trusted  with  the  Homeless.  So  she  de 
cided  to  throw  herself  on  his  mercy  —  just  a  little 
throw  to  begin  with,  because  she  wasn't  sure  how  much 
mercy  he  might  have. 

"  You  see,"  she  explained  softly,  "  Alicia  Lau 
retta's  the  Realisation  of  a  Dream.  And  I'm  one, 
for  her,  too.  And  when  it  fits  in  as  well  as  all  that, 


THE  KNIGHTLY  LOVER  49 

you  can  see  for  yourself  it's  too  good  an  opportunity 
to  be  lost!" 

The  Squire  looked  at  her  as  if  he  wished  she  would 
translate. 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  what  I  didn't  tell  you  be 
fore  I  bought  your  bungalow,"  she  went  on.  "  I 
didn't  come  down  here  for  peace  or  fresh  air  or  fish 
ing,  or  even  to  rescue  small  girls  from  Simmons 
brutes.  I  came  here  to  realise  dreams." 

"  Realise  your  dreams  ? "  said  the  Squire  quite 
simply  —  "  But  nobody  ever  does  that,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  they  do.  Everybody  could  if 
they  only  thought  so.  Because  most  people's  pet 
dreams  are  only  things  they're  afraid  to  do  because 
people  would  laugh,  or  because  it  mightn't  make 
money  for  them,  or  because  some  one  thinks  they 
shouldn't  —  or  some  such  silly  reason.  There's  no 
reason  why  not,  nearly  all  the  time !  I  wanted  all  my 
life  to  be  alone  in  a  house  that  belonged  to  just  me  — 
and  I  have  it.  Cousin  George  didn't  think  I  ought 
to,  and  you  didn't  either,  but  —  here  I  am.  I  wanted 
a  lot  of  other  things,  too.  I  have  them  written  down. 
Want  to  hear  them?" 

Her  eyes  danced.  She  was  sure  the  Squire  would 
look  pained.  But  he  sat  as  gravely  at  attention  as 
a  big  dog. 

*  Please,"  he  said. 

She  pulled  out  of  her  dress,  where  she  had  pinned 
it,  the  list  Cousin  Jenny  had  been  so  shocked  over. 


50  WHY  NOT? 

She  had  a  vague  hope  that  the  Squire,  too,  would  be 
shocked  satisfactorily.  But  when  she  had  read  it 
over  to  him,  with  one  or  two  discreet  omissions,  he 
merely  smiled  at  her.  It  was  a  brand-new  smile  which 
he  had  never  used  before  —  as  if  she  were  a  dear  little 
confident  child  proudly  displaying  a  fine  baking  of 
mud-pies. 

"  They  aren't  mud-pies ! "  she  said  before  she 
thought. 

"  Why,  of  course  they're  not ! "  said  the  Squire, 
still  smiling  exactly  as  if  they  were.  "  Well,  which 
dream  does  your  Little  Orphan  Allie  realise  —  is  she 
the  Livonian  Bloodhound  or  the  Knightly  Lover  ?  " 

"Neither,"  said  Rosamond.  "She's  the  Some- 
body-to-Look-up-to-Me.  She  does,  really." 

"  And  have  they  really  given  her  to  you  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  On  probation,"  said  Rosamond  a  little  ruefully. 
"  They  wouldn't,  if  Mrs.  Simmons'  '  husky  nigger ' 
hadn't  been  brought,  and  no  place  handy  to  stow  poor 
little  Alicia  Lauretta.  But  if  you'll  just  sign  an 
affidavit  that  I'm  a  thoroughly  trustworthy  person 
—  ah,  please,  good,  kind,  nice  Mr.  Squire,  do !  —  I'll 
get  her  to  keep.  I  have  a  certificate  from  my  East 
Warren  clergyman  now,  all  about  how  good  I  am,  but 
they  have  to  have  two  signatures.  Please,  now  — 
you  know  perfectly  well  that  I  don't  smoke,  drink  or 
gamble,  and  that  I'll  be  very  good  to  Allie ! " 

"Why  don't  you  ask  your  cousin?  "  inquired  Mr. 


THE  KNIGHTLY  LOVER  51 

Squire,  rather  unfairly.  He  had  been  treated  to  one 
or  two  descriptions  of  Cousin  George — :  usually  de 
lineated  as  his  own  soul-mate. 

"He  wouldn't,"  said  Rosamond  matter-of-factly. 
"  He  wants  me  to  go  and  study  stenography.  But 
I  can  take  care  of  Allie  perfectly  well.  I  get  five 
hundred  a  year  for  Uncle  Alvin's  house  in  East  War 
ren,  and  I  own  this  one  and  a  thousand  dollars  I 
didn't  pay  you  for  it.  Besides,  there's  going  to  be 
the  Peaceful  Exercise  of  My  Profession,  soon  as  sum 
mer  comes." 

The  Squire  didn't  go  into  that,  just  then.  Pos 
sibly  he'd  learned  that  it  wasn't  any  use,  though  when 
it  came  to  tenacity  there  were  times,  Rosamond  knew, 
when  he  could  give  her  bloodhound-elect  points. 

"May  I  see  the  little  girl?"  he  asked. 

"  You  may,"  said  Rosamond.  "  I'll  get  her.  I 
have  to  untie  her  from  the  cellar,  where  she's  been 
scrubbing  out  the  coalbin,  you  know." 

"Unchain,  don't  you  mean?"  retorted  the  Squire 
swiftly.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact  my  principal  fear  is 
that  you  will  spoil  the  child." 

Rosamond  went  to  the  doorway.  "  Alicia  dear !  " 
she  called. 

"  Yes,  dear  Auntie ! "  replied  an  amiable  little 
voice ;  and  Alicia  Lauretta  emerged. 

It  was  distinctly  Alicia  Lauretta,  not  Simmons' 
Allie.  Four  days  of  Rosamond's  sway  over  an  ador 
ingly  imitative  little  mind  had  worked  wonders.  Allie 


52  WHY  NOT  2 

was  dressed  in  the  white  frock  of  her  dreams.  It 
might  have  been  ready-made,  but  it  was  undeniably 
the  kind  the  St.  Nicholas  little  girl  had  sported.  She 
was  tied  about  with  a  pink  sash,  and  —  a  flight  to 
which  her  wildest  fancies  had  never  carried  her  — 
there  was  a  pink  fillet  ending  in  a  dashing  bow,  bound 
round  her  curls.  'She  was  clean  and  unterrified,  and 
the  stray-kitten  look  was  fading  from  her  little  pointed 
face,  which  was  plumper  and  pinker  than  it  had  been. 
In  her  hand  she  held  elegantly  the  fairy-book  she  had 
been  reading.  Rosamond  had  dressed  her  carefully 
for  the  part  before  she  had  sent  for  Mr.  Squire,  and 
the  effect  on  him  seemed  good. 

"  Mr.  Squire  wants  to  talk  to  you,  dear,"  Rosa 
mond  explained.  Alicia  dropped  a  very  creditable 
curtsy,  considering  that  she'd  only  had  one  or  two 
lessons. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Squire,"  she  said  as  sweetly 
as  any  of  his  friends'  little  girls  would  have  spoken. 

The  Squire  may  have  had,  for  the  moment,  the 
sensation  of  assisting  at  a  play ;  but  he  rose  gallantly 
to  the  occasion. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Allie  ?  "  he  said,  "  and  how  is 
everything  going  with  you  ?  " 

Alicia  —  late  Allie  —  nestled  confidingly  down  on 
the  step  by  him.  Up  to  this  time  he  had  been  some 
body  to  be  watched  from  afar  with  awe ;  but  he  seemed 
to  be  Rosamond's  friend,  and  any  one  who  was  that 
was  to  be  adopted  and  trusted  implicitly. 


THE  KNIGHTLY  LOVER  53 

"  Beautiful !  "  she  said.  "  You  know,  if  you  want 
your  Pertend  badly,  you  get  it !  —  This  is  mine.  Oh, 
it's  lovely!" 

"  And  do  you  do  anything  except  pretend?  "  in 
quired  the  Squire,  with  a  glance  in  Rosamond's  direc 
tion  as  if  he  meant  her  too. 

"It's  real  now,"  Alicia  explained  patiently.  "I 
help  Auntie  with  the  work,  but  it's  nice,  clean  work. 
Nothing  ever  smells  horrid.  And  we're  going  to  have 
old  Annie  for  the  washing  every  Monday,  an'  she 
scrubs  an'  cleans  windows  Fridays.  An'  I  learn  man 
ners  a  lot,  an'  pianner-playin',  too.  Pi-an-o,  I 
mean." 

"  And  do  you  like  it  ?  "  asked  the  Squire. 

"  Why,  of  course !  "  said  Alicia  grandly.  "  It's 
the  sort  of  place  I  always  felt  like  I  belonged  to ! " 

"  I'm  teaching  her  to  sew,  too,"  added  Rosamond 
quietly.  "  And  I  find  she  knew  nothing  at  all  about 
cooking.  The  Simmons  woman  did  everything  the 
hardest,  sloppiest,  worst  way.  Is  there  anything 
more  you'd  like  to  ask  her?  " 

"  Why,  not  much  more,"  said  the  Squire.  He  put 
a  kind  arm  around  the  child.  "  You're  happy, 
then,"  he  said.  "  But  do  you  do  everything  Miss 
Rosamond  tells  you  to,  as  a  good  little  girl  should?  " 

Alicia  looked  at  him  in  superb  surprise. 

"  Wouldn't  you?  "  she  said. 

The  Squire  laughed.  "  Upon  my  word,  I  seem  to, 
my  dear !  "  he  answered,  and  rose,  still  with  his  arm 


54  WHY  NOT? 

around  the  child.  "  You  win,  Miss  Gilbert,"  he  said. 
"  I'll  sign  whatever  it  is." 

"  You  may  go  back  now,  dear,"  said  Rosamond, 
and  Allie  disappeared  contentedly  with  her  fairy- 
book.  "  It's  really  curious,"  she  went  on,  "  how  she 
does  fit  into  well-bred  ways.  She  seems  to  love  being 
well  brought  up." 

The  Squire  smiled. 

"  She  is  being  brought  up  well,"  said  Rosamond 
hotly,  "  and  you  know  it." 

"She  is  in  very  good  hands.  I  will  sign  the 
papers,"  said  the  Squire  with  a  return  to  his  copy 
book  manners. 

"  Oh,  goody ! "  said  Rosamond  with  one  of  her 
swift  changes  of  manner.  "  And  for  a  reward  you 
can  take  us  out  in  your  car  some  day  soon  to  find 
my  Livonian  bloodhound !  " 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  Squire  doubtfully  as  he 
went. 

"  He  acts  almost  as  if  his  wife  would  object,"  mused 
Rosamond.  Then  she  remembered:  he  hadn't  a  wife, 
because  wives  have  to  sign  conveyances  of  property, 
and  his  hadn't.  "  Then  there  isn't  any  her,"  Rosa 
mond  thought.  "Maybe  he  broke  his  heart  in  his 
first  youth  because  his  sweetheart  died  —  or  perhaps 
she  wouldn't  marry  side-whiskers.  I  wonder  why  on 
earth  he  wears  them.  He  can't  be  much  more  than 
forty  —  which  is  old  enough,  to  be  sure,  but  not  old 
enough  to  do  that  to  your  face."  Her  soft  brown 


THE  KNIGHTLY  LOVER  55 

eyes  focused  dreamily  on  the  lake  below  her.  "  I 
wonder  —  I  wonder  why  it  wouldn't  be  kind  to 
him  to  get  him  not  to  wear  them.  Perhaps  she'd  take 
him  back.  I  suppose  she's  quite  an  old  person  in  a 
cap  by  now.  But  she  may  be  able  to  love  still.  .  .  ." 
She  continued  to  look  at  the  lake.  "  I  wonder,"  she 
said,  "  oh,  I  wonder  when  I  shall  see  my  Knightly 
Lover?" 

But  it  is  not  useful,  though  it  may  be  pleasant,  to 
dream  of  Knightly  Lovers,  when  you  should  be  plan 
ning  a  fortune-telling  booth  which  can  only  cost 
forty  dollars.  Rosamond  brought  her  eyes  down 
from  the  sunset,  and  began  to  plan  ways  and  means, 
for  summer  was  coming  in. 

"  Alicia !  "  she  called.  "  Do  you  know  of  a  good 
carpenter  I  could  get  ?  " 

"  For  the  fortune-telling  place  ?  "  Alicia  called  back 
from  inside.  She  had  heard  all  about  it,  and  was  as 
thrilled  by  the  idea  as  Rosamond  herself.  (6  Oh,  yes, 
Bill  Curley  is  good  an'  quite  cheap.  Auntie,  can't 
I  learn  to  tell  fortunes  too,  byn'  by?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  not,"  said  Rosamond,  coming  in. 
"  Dear  me,  it's  nearly  time  to  get  supper." 

"  I've  got  supper,"  said  Alicia  proudly. 

Rosamond's  heart  sank.  It  was  all  very  well  for 
Alicia  to  be  willing  to  scrub,  and  to  regard  the 
hardest  work  as  mere  commonplaces  to  be  tossed  off 
for  her  divinity.  But  Mrs.  Simmons'  ideas  of  cook 
ing  and  Rosamond's  differed  widely.  She  ran  into 


56  WHY  NOT? 

the  dining-room,  only  to  be  greeted  by  a  cloud  of 
smoke. 

"  I've  fried  some  potatoes  raw,"  said  Alicia  glee 
fully.  She  was  carefully  shrouded  in  a  long  lavender 
gingham  apron  Rosamond  had  made  her.  "  And  the 
beefsteak's  all  fried,  too.  Ain't  it  nice  ?  " 

Rosamond  looked  in  holy  horror  at  the  little  round 
table,  set  carefully  in  just  the  way  she  had  showed 
Alicia.  On  it  sizzled  a  platter  of  beefsteak,  fried  to 
leather.  On  a  soup-plate  beside  it  were  heaped 
enough  half-charred,  half-raw  potatoes  for  the  numer 
ous  Simmons  family.  There  were  also  hunks  of  bread, 
and  crowning  effect,  the  butter  had  been  put  on  in 
its  wooden  dish,  still  modestly  half-draped  in  the 
paper  it  had  worn  from  the  dairy. 

Rosamond  opened  all  the  windows  with  six  swift 
bangs,  which  relieved  her  feelings  a  little.  Then  she 
turned  to  Allie,  who  was  looking  at  her  forlornly. 

"  Didn't  I  do  it  right?  "  asked  Allie.  "  Ain't  it  a 
meal  a  well-born  person  would  have  ?  " 

Suddenly  the  whole  thing,  instead  of  being  irritat 
ing,  struck  Rosamond  as  being  funny.  It  was  so  far 
from  a  well-born  person's  meal ! 

"  No,  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  won't  deceive  you.  This 
meal  is  not  what  a  well-born  person  would  cook,  un 
less  she  was  hunting  for  dyspepsia." 

Allie  cheered  up  a  little.  It  couldn't  be  so  bad  if 
Rosamond  smiled. 

"  It  was  lovely  of  you  to  surprise  me,"  went  on 


THE  KNIGHTLY  LOVER  57 

Rosamond.  "  But  you  see,  dear  —  well,  it's  the  way 
Mrs.  Simmons  cooks  things,  isn't  it?  And  she  and 
I  have  different  tastes.  I  don't  like  things  all  fried." 

"  It  saves  washin',''  explained  Allie  earnestly. 
"You  kin  use  the  same  frying-pan  much's  a  week, 
sometimes." 

"  Good  gracious!  "  said  Rosamond  weakly,  com 
mencing  to  eat  bread  and  milk  and  planning  an  im 
mediate  lecture  on  domestic  hygiene. 

"  You  see,  dear,"  she  began  again,  looking  across 
the  table  at  her  earnest-eyed  family  eating  its  steak, 
66  it  isn't  nice  to  use  things  more  than  once  without 
washing.  There's  more  to  being  well-bred  than  nice 
clothes.  You  have  to  speak  correctly,  and  be 
courteous,  and  keep  everything  very  clean  — " 

Allie  continued  to  absorb  her  words  of  wisdom 
with  reverence ;  but  Rosamond  caught  herself  in  mid 
air. 

"  Goodness !  "  she  thought,  "  instructing  the  young 
is  insidious !  I'm  beginning  to  lay  down  the  law  like 
Grand-Uncle  Alvin  and  Cousin  Jenny,  just  because 
Allie's  little  and  I'm  big!  Honey,"  she  said  aloud, 
"  never  mind.  We'll  pick  things  up  as  we  go  along. 
You  run  out  now  and  play  with  somebody,  and  be 
happy." 

"But  I  don't  want  to,"  said  Allie.  "Please, 
Auntie,  let  me  stay  with  you."  Her  voice  lowered 
a  little,  and  she  looked  down.  "I  —  I  feel  as  if  it 
was  all  pertend,  sometimes,  yet,"  she  explained  shame- 


58  WHY  NOT? 

facedly.  "  I'd  rather  be  where  I  can  see  you  all  the 
time,  a  while  yet  —  'f  you  don't  mind." 

"  Of  course  I  don't,"  said  Rosamond,  though  a 
small  girl  who  seemed  to  actually  like  being  improved 
was  nearly  beyond  her  comprehension.  "  Come  on, 
dear,  let's  go  out  on  the  porch  with  our  wraps,  and 
watch  to  see  if  a  Knightly  Lover  doesn't  ride  by." 

So  they  went  out  on  the  porch  and  sat  down  to 
watch  the  lake.  It  really  wasn't  necessary  for  any 
one  to  ride  by  to  add  to  the  beauty  of  the  night. 
Rosamond  folded  her  hands  and  fell  to  dreaming  of 
the  fortune-telling  booth.  The  heaven-sent  thought 
had  just  come  to  her  that  a  nice,  durable  striped  tent 
would  be  much  more  suitable  to  her  profession  and 
also  to  her  pocket  than  the  wooden  place  she  had  in 
tended.  She  watched  the  moonlit  water  absently  as 
she  arranged  details.  An  occasional  canoe  slipped 
silently  up  or  down.  Some  of  the  people  in  them 
were  singing. 

One  canoe  she  watched  with  more  interest  than  the 
others,  because  it  was  prettier.  It  was  white,  and  it 
glided  along  the  water  like  a  low-skimming  moth.  It 
went  up  the  lake,  out  of  sight,  then  came  back  into 
sight  again,  returning.  Then  it  neared  the  shore. 
She  could  see  the  man  who  sat  in  it. 

"  He  looks  like  Lohengrin  or  Galahad  or  some 
thing  !  "  said  Rosamond  under  her  breath.  She  meant 
Galahad,  probably  —  at  least,  none  of  the  plump 
Teutonic  gentlemen  who  have  ever  sailed  across  an 


THE  KNIGHTLY  LOVER  59 

opera-stage  behind  a  practicable  swan  have  ever 
looked  as  beautiful  as  the  man  in  the  white  canoe. 
He  was  in  flannels,  and  the  moonlight  made  him  seem 
silvered  all  over.  It  gleamed  on  his  fair,  curly- 
crested  head,  and  on  his  upraised  profile  —  a  clear 
and  regular  young  profile  of  the  Keats-Le  Gallienne 
variety. 

Rosamond  watched  breathlessly.  He  was  like 
something  out  of  a  play.  Yes,  he  was  coming  closer 
still.  Close  —  and  he  must  be  tying  his  boat  at  the 
landing  below,  for  she  heard  a  little  grating  and  a 
bump. 

"  Oh,  is  he  comin'  here  ?  "  whispered  Allie. 

"Hush!"  said  Rosamond,  springing  to  her  feet, 
and  leaning  forward  in  the  shelter  of  a  pillar. 

They  could  hear  his  footsteps,  coming  up  the  path. 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

THE   TURBINE    ENGINE   AND   THE   SQUIRE 

BUT  the  steps  went  by,  for  the  owner  of  the  white 
canoe,  embodied  dream  though  he  may  have 
seemed  to  Rosamond,  was  thinking  of  far  more  earthly 
things  than  being  the  hero  of  anybody's  dreams  at 
all.  And  Rosamond  sank  back  on  the  porch  with 
a  sigh,  and  turned  her  mind  to  the  evolving  of  por 
tieres  for  the  living-room. 

For  the  man  in  the  white  canoe  wanted  to  talk  to 
Mr.  Squire  on  business.  He  was  a  gallant  young 
figure  as  he  strode  on  along  the  path  in  his  white 
flannels.  His  name  was  Richard  Jerrold,  and  in  his 
pocket,  slightly  sticking  out,  were  large  rolls  of  plans. 

John  Squire,  waiting  on  the  porch  for  him,  was 
a  rather  different  person  than  he  seemed  to  Rosamond. 
The  difference  was  mainly  in  the  direction  of  busi- 
nesslikeness.  He  did  not  seem  tenderly  amused  at 
Richard  Jerrold,  nor  did  he  offer  to  throw  in  any 
thing  at  any  stage  of  the  proceedings. 

"  You  are  the  Mr.  Jerrold  who  mailed  me  an  intro 
duction  from  a  friend  of  mine?  "  said  he,  looking 
very  big  and  capitalistic. 

Jerrold  smiled  engagingly. 

"  The  very  same,"  said  he.     "  Our  mutual  friend 
60 


TURBINE  ENGINE  AND  SQUIRE        61 

told  me  that  he  thought  you  might  be  interested  in 
some  ideas  of  mine,  and  I  came  around  to  see  if  you 
were." 

Mr.  Squire  offered  him  a  cigar. 

"  I  can't  tell  yet,  you  know,"  he  said.  "  At  least, 
not  till  I've  heard  about  it,  or  them." 

Richard  Jerrold  said  "  no,  thank  you,"  to  the  cigar, 
and  produced  cigarettes  instead.  So  Mr.  Squire 
lighted  the  cigar  himself,  and  they  smoked  in  sociable 
silence  for  a  little  while,  and  let  the  night  go  on  be 
ing  beautiful  without  worrying  to  mention  it,  as  they 
would  have  felt  to  be  necessary  if  they  had  been 
women. 

"  Good  old  moon,"  said  Mr.  Jerrold  presently, 
motioning  toward  it  with  his  second  cigarette. 

66  Excellent,"  replied  Mr.  Squire.  "  As  far  as  that 
idea  goes  I  agree  with  you  fully." 

Jerrold  grinned.  He  began  to  like  Mr.  Squire, 
large  and  capitalistic  as  he  seemed. 

"  We-11,"  he  said,  "  that  wasn't,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  sort  of  thing  I  wanted  to  call  to  your  attention. 
But  it  seemed  a  shame  to  spring  it  on  you  without 
any  —  er  —  preliminaries  about  moons  and  so  on." 

"  Good  idea,"  said  Mr.  Squire.  "  Well,  having 
disposed  of  the  moon,  let's  get  down  to  facts." 

Mr.  Jerrold  threw  away  his  cigarette,  and  got  up, 
so  that  he  could  get  the  large  roll  of  plans  out  of  his 
trousers  pocket  more  easily. 

"  Here  are  the  facts,"  he  said. 


62  WHY  NOT? 

He  handed  them  across  to  Mr.  Squire  without 
further  remarks.  That  gentleman  studied  them  in 
silence  for  some  minutes,  while  Jerrold  held  himself 
rather  nervously  still. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  them?  "  he  asked  at  length, 
as  Mr.  Squire  continued  to  say  nothing  —  a  discon 
certing  habit  of  things,  because  it  left  the  next  move, 
always,  up  to  the  other  party  to  the  argument. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  entirely  understand  them,"  an 
swered  Squire.  "  They  are  blue-prints  of  some  sort 
of  engine,  aren't  they?  " 

Mr.  Jerrold  came  over  and  sat  down  close  to  him, 
where  he  could  reach  out  and  touch  the  blue-prints 
of  his  heart,  which  Squire  was  tapping  as  carelessly  as 
if  they  were  an  evening  paper. 

"  They  are  plans  for  an  entirely  new  sort  of  tur 
bine  engine,"  he  said.  "  My  professors  at  the  techni 
cal  school  seemed  to  think  very  well  of  it.  If  it  goes 
through  it  will  revolutionise  — " 

Squire  interrupted  him  with  a  technical  question 
or  two  that  showed  he  did  understand  exceedingly 
well  what  the  engine  was  about. 

Jerrold  answered  as  swiftly,  and  they  discussed 
mechanical  points  for  some  little  time. 

"  And,  as  I  understand,  you  would  like  me  to  help 
you  finance  the  thing  —  is  that  it  ?  "  inquired  Mr. 
Squire.  "  Can  you  do  anything  at  all  in  that  line 
yourself?  " 

Jerrold  smiled. 


TURBINE  ENGINE  AND  SQUIRE       63 

"  Usually  inventors  can't,"  he  said.  "  But  it  hap 
pened  that  I  did  expect  a  relative  of  mine  to  help  me 
with  it.  She  had  practically  promised  to  do  so.  But 
—  being  a  woman  —  she  changed  her  mind  about  it. 
And  before  she  could  change  it  back  she  died.'* 

"  I  am  sorry  she  died,"  said  Mr.  Squire  thought 
fully,  still  tapping  the  plans. 

Jerrold's  heart  sank  a  little,  for  this  did  not  sound 
promising  at  all. 

"What  do  you  think  of  them?"  he  said  bluntly. 

"  So  far  as  I  can  judge  they  are  plans  which  have 
a  fair  chance  of  success,"  he  said.  "  And,  as  Mr. 
Miller  has  doubtless  told  you,  I  am  interested  in  such 
things.  But  —  they  are  nevertheless  a  gamble.  I 
should  be  glad  to  help  you  if  you  had  yourself  an 
equal  interest  in  the  matter.  That  would  assure  me 
of  your  own  good  faith,  and  also  that  it  wasn't  as 
wild-cat  as  my  going  it  alone  would  make  it.  But 
as  matters  stand  now,  I  don't  believe  I  would  be 
justified  in  backing  it,  lone  hand  fashion." 

"  That  is,  if  I  could  finance  half  you  would  finance 
the  other  half?  "  asked  Mr.  Jerrold  eagerly. 

"  I  don't  say  that,"  answered  the  Squire  cautiously, 
"  I  only  say  that  I  might  think  more  favourably  of 
doing  so.  Can  you  back  it  yourself  to  any  extent?  " 

"  No,"  said  Jerrold  ruefully.  "  I  can't.  I'm  only 
just  out  of  Yale  last  June,  and  my  only  available 
assets  are  a  middle-sized  hotel  this  relative  left  me 
near  here,  down  in  the  town.  It's  called  the  Mam- 


64  WHY  NOT? 

moth  —  I  suppose  because  it  is  much  smaller  than 
the  hotels  on  either  side  of  it.  And  it's  rather  run 
down.  I  can't  dispose  of  it,  because  it  hasn't  a  good 
clientage,  what  they  call  a  following,  I  find.  I  am 
trying  to  sell  it,  but  it  seems  impossible  at  this  stage 
of  the  game." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Squire.  "  Hotels  of  that  type 
are  rather  hard  to  dispose  of.  However,  that  may 
turn  out  differently.  Are  you  staying  here  ?  " 

Mr.  Jerrold  nodded.  He  was  bunking  in  the  hotel, 
he  said,  and  having  rather  a  good  time,  except  that  it 
had  been  chilly  at  first. 

"  Who  lives  in  that  little  bungalow  at  the  side  of 
the  path  as  you  come  up  from  the  water?  "  he  in 
quired.  "  If  by  any  wild  chance  I  should  rent  the 
Mammoth  —  may  the  heavens  be  its  bed  1  —  it  looks 
like  about  what  I'd  like  to  live  in." 

Mr.  Squire  looked,  long  and  intently,  at  the  gentle, 
clear-cut  and  guileless  face  of  young  Mr.  Jerrold. 
His  fair  head  was  tipped  back  a  little,  the  better  to 
make  rings  out  of  smoke.  He  looked  most  uncom 
monly  young  and  picturesque.  Men  are  not  supposed 
to  care  whether  they  are  handsome  or  not,  but  — 
even  the  most  sensible  of  men  have  been  known  to 
underrate  their  own  and  overrate  other  men's  attrac 
tions,  under  certain  circumstances.  Mr.  Squire 
thought  that  Richard  Jerrold  was  exceedingly  good- 
looking  and  attractive  and  light-hearted. 

"  That  bungalow's  sold,"  he  said  shortly,  "  to  a 


TURBINE  ENGINE  AND  SQUIRE       65 

single  lady  who  lives  in  it.     A  very  estimable  person." 

"  She  didn't  look  estimable,"  said  Mr.  Jerrold  ab 
sently.  "  She  looked  slim  and  young  and  a  darling. 
Or  perhaps  that  was  her  niece  or  something." 

Evidently  he  had  seen  something  besides  the  lines 
of  the  bungalow.  Mr.  Squire  bit  the  end  of  his 
brown,  prosperous  cigar  so  hard  that  he  bit  it  off. 
But  he  had  refused  to  finance  Jerrold's  scheme,  and 
what  could  he  do?  And  Jerrold  continued  to  ask 
questions  about  the  inmates  of  the  bungalow.  The 
dress  he  had  seen  was  pink.  He  liked  pink.  And 
the  Squire  had  a  strong  feeling  that  Rosamond  Gilbert 
was  going  to  express  a  preference  for  white  flannels 
and  fair  curly  hair  brushed  back  straight.  He  didn't 
feel  that  she  would  be  wise  in  doing  so,  but  what  could 
you  do  with  a  headstrong  girl  like  that  ?  He  switched 
the  conversation  desperately  back  to  the  turbine 
engine  which  was  going  to  revolutionise  things.  He 
even  began  to  think  wildly  of  financing  it  on  con 
dition  that  Mr.  Jerrold  took  it  and  left  for  the  far, 
far  Orient.  But  somehow  Jerrold  seemed  to  want  to 
talk  about  the  bungalow. 

When  he  finally  rose  to  go  the  Squire  found  him 
self  feeling  so  grateful  that  when  Jerrold  asked  him 
to  walk  down  to  the  dock  with  him  he  went  joyfully. 
And  it  never  struck  him  till  too  late  just  why  his 
society  was  desired. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  Jerrold  inquired,  stopping 
short  on  the  path  when  they  were  level  with  Ros- 


66  WHY  NOT? 

amond's  dwelling,  "  that  the  good  lady  over  there 
would  let  us  look  over  the  premises?  I  certainly  do 
like  the  looks  of  that  little  house." 

It  was  an  attractive  little  house.  Just  at  present 
Mr.  Squire  wished  that  he  hadn't  lavished  such  care 
on  the  building  of  it. 

"  She's  not  very  keen  about  strangers,"  said  he. 

"  Let's  try !  "  said  Jerrold  buoyantly ;  and  led  the 
way  across  the  grass. 

Mr.  Squire  felt,  as  he  made  the  introduction  of 
Rosamond  and  Richard  Jerrold,  as  if  they  two  were 
figures  that  belonged  in  the  same  pageant;  and  as  if 
he,  quiet  and  big  and  dark  and  slow-spoken,  were 
something  that  belonged  somewhere  else  altogether 
—  something  that  belonged  gravely  discussing  tilings 
off  with  older  people,  while  these  two  laughed  and 
fitted  together  in  the  spring  moonlight.  Rosamond 
and  this  college  boy  with  his  ridiculous  roll  of  plans 
and  his  hair  that  the  moonlight  caught  so  engagingly, 
did  not  seem  to  have  any  need  of  him. 

It  seemed  forever  before  Jerrold  wanted  to  go. 
Mr.  Squire  got  up,  himself,  as  a  gentle  hint,  and  had 
to  stand  quite  a  little  while  before  the  hint  was  taken. 

"  What  a  perfect  joy  that  girl  is ! "  said  Jerrold. 
"  You  couldn't  have  the  blues  with  her  around,  under 
any  circumstances  known  to  the  mind  of  man." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Squire.  He  did  not  add  anything 
more  at  all. 


TURBINE  ENGINE  AND  SQUIRE       67 

Jerrold  got  into  the  canoe  and  paddled  off,  and 
Mr.  Squire  watched  him  go  with  a  dark  premonition 
that  this  was  only  the  beginning  of  things.  By  way 
of  turning  the  knife  in  the  wound  he  stopped  again 
on  his  way  hack,  where  Rosamond  was  still  standing, 
leaning  against  one  of  the  supports  of  the  bungalow 
porch,  looking  far  off  in  the  distance.  For  once  her 
face  was  serious. 

"  Isn't  it  lovely,  just  being  alive,  a  night  like 
this  ?  "  she  said  gravely  to  him  as  he  returned. 

"  Is  it  ?  "  he  said.  His  face  softened  a  little  as  he 
looked  at  her.  It  seemed  to  him  a  blessed  thing  that 
she  could  enjoy  being  alive,  after  all,  even  if  he 
couldn't  with  Richard  Jerrold  in  the  foreground. 

u  Don't  you  think  so  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  smiled.  "  Well,  being  happier  comes  easier  to 
some  people  than  it  does  to  others,"  he  explained. 
A  very  clever  thought  had  struck  him.  "  I  wish  you'd 
show  me  how  to  enjoy  things,"  he  suggested. 

She  laughed. 

"  With  everything  you  have  ?  "  she  said.  "  It's 
too  late,  dear  sir !  I'm  going  to  start  with  mild  cases 
and  work  up,  not  with  people  who  have  heaps  of 
money  and  heaps  of  houses  and  land  and  servants, 
and  can't  enjoy  them." 

"  If  that's  the  case,"  said  the  Squire  quietly,  "  per 
haps  I'd  better  go  home." 

Rosamond  coloured.     She   was   afraid  she'd  hurt 


68  WHY  NOT? 

his  feelings,  and  if  there  was  one  thing  she  hated  more 
than  another,  it  was  doing  that  to  anybody. 

"  I'm  sorry !  "  said  she  like  a  child.  "  Won't  you 
please  not  go?  And  I'll  get  you  something  nice  to 
eat."  Rosamond  had  great  faith  in  giving  men 
things  to  eat  when  you  wanted  to  take  their  minds. 
It  had  worked  beautifully  with  even  Grand-Uncle 
Alvin  in  times  gone.  So  she  slipped  inside  and 
brought  out,  in  what  seemed  a  very  short  time,  some 
sandwiches  with  unexpected  fillings  inside,  and  some 
hot  chocolate  —  for  it  was  getting  a  little  chilly  on 
the  verandah.  "  Isn't  it  lovely  to  think  there's  no 
body  to  tell  us  we  must  go  in  because  it's  cold  ?  "  she 
said  gleefully,  sitting  down  by  Mr.  Squire  and  pour 
ing  him  a  big  cupful  of  chocolate. 

Mr.  Squire  laughed.  "  How  did  you  know  that 
anybody  ever  told  me  to  go  in  ?  "  he  inquired,  help 
ing  himself  to  the  sandwiches  with  a  certain  lifting  of 
spirits. 

"I  didn't,"  she  answered.  "Did  they?"  The 
idea  of  anybody  telling  her  large  landlord  to  go  or 
come  anywhere  at  all  was  one  which  struck  her  as 
curious.  "  I  was  being  self-centred  and  thinking 
about  just  me.  People  always  do  tell  you  to  go  in, 
you  know,  if  they  are  chilly.  And  of  course  they  get 
chilly  long  before  you  do." 

"  Naturally,"  said  he.  He  was  looking  quite 
happy  again.  "  I  don't  know,  though,  for  I  never 
did  get  cold." 


TURBINE  ENGINE  AND  SQUIRE       69 

"  Then  he  isn't  going  to  advise  me  to  have  a 
wrap,"  thought  Rosamond,  who  always  kept  one  hand 
on  her  independence,  as  if  it  was  a  pocketbook,  when 
the  Squire  was  about. 

They  stopped  talking,  gradually,  but  it  was  not 
a  trying  silence.  That  was  one  nice  thing  about  the 
Squire,  Rosamond  thought,  you  could  be  perfectly 
comfortable  when  he  was  about,  as  if  he  were  a 
blanket,  or  a  couch,  or  something  else  soothing  and 
useful.  That  is,  if  he  wasn't  trying  to  reconstruct 
you.  And  to-night  he  wasn't,  not  at  all. 

66  Oh,  you  are  nice ! "  she  said  impulsively,  laying 
one  warm  hand  on  his  wrist. 

Rosamond  had  very  live  little  hands.  They  were 
no  more  impersonal  than  she  was.  Indeed,  they 
could  almost  talk  to  you,  all  by  themselves.  They 
were  saying  to  the  Squire  now,  just  as  Rosamond 
had,  how  nice  he  was,  and  how  kind  it  was  of  him  not 
to  be  improving  her  for  the  moment,  and  how  lovely 
things  were  generally.  So  he  sat  very  still  and  let 
her  still  hand  talk  into  his  wrist.  It  was  with  a  dis 
tinct  shock  that  he  found  that  she  was  taking  it 
away. 

"  It's  more  than  eleven,"  said  Rosamond  demurely. 
"  Don't  you  know  that  you  ought  to  have  told  me  it 
was  time  all  good  little  girls  were  in  bed?  " 

"Why  —  yes,"  he  answered,  rising  to  his  feet. 
"  I  suppose  I  ought." 

"Well,  don't,"  she  counselled.     "Let  me  say  in- 


70  WHY  NOT? 

stead,  that  it's  time  even  the  best  of  landlords  ought 
to  go  home !  " 

So  he  went. 

Rosamond  felt  tired,  and  she  slipped  up  to  bed 
almost  right  away.  It  was  not  till  she  had  her  head 
on  the  pillow  and  was  nearly  asleep  that  it  suddenly 
occurred  to  her  that  her  knight  from  the  white  canoe 
had  come  to  her  after  all,  and  spent  nearly  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  with  her.  She  had  been  so 
busy  talking  to  the  Squire  afterwards  that  it  had 
almost  slipped  her  mind.  And  yet  —  why,  she  hadn't 
said  much  to  the  Squire  after  all.  It  must  have  been 
making  those  sandwiches  in  such  swift  time  that  had 
taken  her  mind.  Sometimes  days  and  evenings  seem 
as  if  a  great  deal  had  happened  in  them  when  nothing 
has  really. 

66  But  the  white  canoe  man  said  mightn't  he  come 
back,"  she  reminded  herself.  "  And  I  think  he'll  be 
back  soon."  So  she  went  as  placidly  to  sleep  as  ever. 
"I  wonder  how  soon,"  was  her  last  waking  thought, 
"  before  I'll  be  in  love  with  him?  " 


CHAPTER  SIX 

THE    WHITE    KNIGHT 

HE  did  come  back,  the  very  next  night.  Rosa 
mond  hadn't  dared  to  hope  for  it  so  soon, 
though  she  had  dressed  for  the  occasion,  rather. 
But  she  told  herself  that  the  most  Knightly  of  pros 
pective  Lovers  wouldn't  be  apt  to  come  back  the  very 
next  evening,  and  spend  the  time  from  six  to  eight 
playing  on  the  piano.  She  played  straight  through 
all  the  hardest  pieces  she  could  find  in  the  book  she 
disliked  the  most,  and  almost  forgot  to  listen  through 
the  music  for  steps  coming  up  the  path.  After  the 
clock  struck  eight  she  decided  that  he  wouldn't  come, 
anyway,  and  —  which  was  not  at  all  the  way  she 
should  have  done,  she  remembered  too  late  —  turned 
on  the  porch  light  and  curled  into  the  swing-seat  and 
began  to  draw  plans  for  a  sun-dial  with  the  most  in 
tense  interest.  She  didn't  really  know  where  to  get 
one,  but  she  knew  exactly  where  she  wanted  it  put. 
As  for  the  buying  of  the  actual  dial,  the  Squire  would 
doubtless  be  able  to  manage  it  for  her. 

So  when  the  slim  white  figure  of  Mr.  Jerrold  swung 
irresponsibly  up  the  path  she  had  almost  forgotten 
who  he  was.  But  she  pushed  her  plans  into  a  heap 

71 


7£  WHY  NOT? 

on  the  seat  behind  her,  and  came  forward  with  her 
hand  out. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  came  back !  "  she  said.  "  I  was 
so  afraid  you  wouldn't." 

"  I  was  afraid  I  wouldn't,  too,"  said  Mr.  Jerrold 
promptly.  "  I  was  afraid  this  house,  and  you,  were 
something  I  thought  I  saw,  something  that  wasn't 
real  at  all." 

"  I'm  real,"  answered  Rosamond,  pulling  a  chair 
out  for  him,  "  but  sometimes  I'm  not  sure  yet  whether 
the  house  is  or  not.  And  I  live  here  all  alone  ex 
cept  for  a  chaperone,  and  there  isn't  anybody  to  tell 
me  what  to  do ! " 

Mr.  Jerrold  sat  down  and  smiled  sunnily  at  her. 
He  was  just  as  young  as  she  was,  it  occurred  to  Ros 
amond,  and  he  looked  as  if  he  was  going  to  know  how 
to  play. 

"In  me,"  he  said,  "you  behold  a  victim  of  cruel 
and  undeserved  misfortunes." 

"  I'm  exceedingly  sorry,"  said  Rosamond  with  ap 
propriate  sympathy.  Then  they  both  burst  out 
laughing. 

"  No,  but  really,  it's  true,"  he  said.  "  And  the 
sad  part  of  it  is,  to  me,  that  I  live  all  alone  without 
even  a  chaperone,  even  the  very  smallest  kind  of  a 
one,  and  there  isn't  a  soul  to  tell  me  what  to  do ! " 

"  And  you  mind  that  ?  "  she  asked.  Rosamond 
could  not  imagine  such  a  thing  happening.  Then  she 
wondered.  Did  this  young  man,  this  White  Knight 


THE  WHITE  KNIGHT  73 

with  such  charmingly  casual  manners,  really  need 
advice?  It  made  him  a  little  less  like  a  hero,  need 
ing  to  be  helped  —  which  was  a  horrid  feeling,  and 
one  Rosamond  promptly  sat  on.  And  then,  it  was 
really  none  of  her  business.  He  might  think  she  was 
interfering. 

She  had  just  opened  her  mouth  to  change  the  sub 
ject,  when  her  eyes  caught  a  glimpse  of  something 
moving  on  the  path  below  her.  A  small  green  cater 
pillar,  doubtless  on  its  way  home  to  a  belated  bed, 
crawled  deliberately  across  the  gravel.  It  did  not 
say  "Why  not?"  because  it  couldn't,  but  it  might 
have,  just  as  well.  .  .  .  After  all,  you  should  always 
help  anybody  you  can,  especially  people  with  such 
blue  eyes. 

"  Could  —  could  I  tell  you  what  to  do,  I  wonder?  " 
she  said  diffidently.  "  It  isn't  as  silly  as  it  seems, 
you  know.  I'm  almost  a  professional  at  it,  or  I'm 
going  to  be  soon." 

"  At  giving  advice  ?  "  he  asked  lightly.  "  Good 
advice?  Mr.  Squire  said  you  were  a  very  estimable 
lady,  but  I  didn't  really  believe  it  till  now." 

But  Rosamond  refused  to  be  anything  but  serious. 
"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  that  is,  not  yet  —  really.  But 
I  expect  to  go  into  it  as  a  business  shortly.  Only 
I  don't  call  it  giving  advice.  I  call  it  realising 
dreams.  But  I  am  going  to  tell  fortunes,  too,  cards, 
hands  or  tea-grounds.  The  tea  would  have  to  be 
extra,  don't  you  think?  —  And  if  you  really  do  need 


74  WHY  NOT? 

help  I  should  be  very  glad  indeed  to  give  it  to  you." 

"  If  you're  really  in  earnest,"  he  said,  "  I  would 
like  to  tell  you  about  things.  Only  it  seems  an  im 
position  to  tell  a  girl  you've  almost  just  met — " 

"  Imposition !  "  cried  Rosamond  warmly.  "  Why, 
it's  what  I'm  for!" 

Mr.  Jerrold  shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  believe  advice  would  help  me !  " 

The  truth  was,  Rosamond,  in  the  moonlight,  looked 
too  pretty  to  give  any  impression  of  usefulness.  But 
she  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"Ah,  tell  me!  "she  said. 

When  Rosamond's  bright,  dark  eyes  focused  them 
selves  on  somebody,  and  her  swift,  soft  voice  said 
"  Tell  me ! "  most  people  had  an  urgent  desire  to  tell, 
and  this  young  man  wasn't  an  exception  to  the  rule. 
He  settled  himself  in  an  unmistakably  narrative  fash 
ion  in  his  chair,  and  began  to  do  as  she  asked. 

"  You  know  my  name,  to  begin  with,"  he  said. 
"  And  I  told  you  last  night  that  I  was  Yale,  last 
year's  class." 

("  That  would  make  him  twenty-three,  or  four  at 
the  most,"  calculated  Rosamond  swiftly.) 

"  I  had  a  grand-aunt,"  was  the  next  piece  of  in 
formation  he  offered.  It  didn't  seem  to  have  much 
connection  with  Yale,  last  year's  class,  but  Rosamond 
waited  patiently. 

"  Did  you  ?  "  she  said  interestedly.  "  Mine  was  a 
grand-uncle,  but  the  principle's  the  same." 


THE  WHITE  KNIGHT  75 

Mr.  Jerrold  looked  sympathetic. 

"  Well,  I  hope  not,"  said  he,  "  because  mine  did 
me  the  meanest  turn  anybody's  aunt  ever  did.  She 
put  me  through  college  and  technical  school  and  a 
P.  G.  course — " 

"  I've  heard  of  crueller  treatment,"  commented  Ros 
amond  to  the  stars. 

"  Wait,"  commanded  Jerrold  sternly.  "  And  then 
she  died.  And  she'd  promised  to  leave  me  money  for 
my  invention." 

"  Forgive  me  for  seeming  to  interrupt,"  said  Ros 
amond,  "  but  you've  forgotten  to  mention  your  in 
vention  before." 

"  Oh,  did  I?  "  said  Jerrold  absently.  Then  he  sat 
forward  in  his  chair  and  began  to  make  gestures. 
"  It's  going  to  revolutionise  everything,"  he  said, 
"  everything.  It's  a  turbine  engine,  not  a  rotary  — " 

"  I'm  sorry,"  interrupted  Rosamond  politely,  "  but 
I  don't  believe  any  of  that  would  tell  me  much.  It's 
one  of  those  labour-saving  things,  isn't  it,  to  make 
one  labourer  grow  where  five  grew  before?  And  the 
other  four  labourers  starve  to  death,  and  you  make 
quite  a  little  money,  and  the  factories  make  lots? 
Grand-Uncle  Alvin  used  to  tell  me  about  them.  He 
said  they  were  iniquitous.  I  think  that  was  the  word. 
And  is  it  really  going  to  be  a  success  ?  " 

All  in  a  minute  the  White  Knight's  boyish  face 
grew  more  mature. 

"  Yes,  it  is  1 "  he  said  passionately.     "  I'm  as  sure 


76  WHY  NOT? 

of  that  as  that  the  sun  rose  up  in  the  east  this  morn 
ing.  So  were  my  professors.  The  thing  is  a  practi 
cal  certainty.  It  is  one  of  the  necessities  of  the  age." 

"Then  why  don't  you  patent  it?"  asked  Rosa 
mond  innocently.  "  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  send  a 
dollar  to  the  Patent  Office,  isn't  it?  " 

Jerrold  looked  hopeless,  and  Rosamond  realised 
that  she  had  evidently  said  the  wrong  thing. 

"  You  don't  understand,"  he  explained,  making  an 
obvious  effort  to  he  polite  to  utter  ignorance.  "  It 
isn't  the  getting  it  patented.  It's  getting  the  money 
to  push  it.  Of  course  I  thought  Aunt  Genevieve 
would  have  come  across  —  and  instead  she  died !  " 

He  sat  back  again  in  his  chair  and  looked  un 
mistakably  wronged. 

"Well,  I  certainly  wouldn't  want  to  be  any  aunt 
of  yours ! "  said  Rosamond  with  conviction.  "  All 
you  seem  to  think  they're  good  for  is  to  do  things 
for  you.  I  thought  people  were  attached  to  aunts. 
But  you  act  as  if  your  poor  aunt  hadn't  even  a  right 
to  die  if  she  wanted  to!  And  likely  she  did  want 
to,"  Rosamond  added  severely,  "  if  you  were  all  the 
relative  she  had  to  love  her!  You  know,"  she  ended 
with  one  of  her  swift  transitions,  "  you  have  to  love 
people.  If  you  don't  you  get  all  mixed  up  and 
wrong." 

Jerrold  looked  apologetic. 

"  I  scarcely  knew  her,"  he  explained,  "  except  to 
see  her  once  in  a  very  long  while.  But  I  really  was 


THE  WHITE  KNIGHT  77 

sorry  she  died,  though  I  wouldn't  have  thought  I 
had  any  right  to  stop  her,  even  if  I  could  have.  It 
was  apoplexy,  and  awfully  sudden.  But  her  will  was 
what  got  me.  I  don't  think  much  of  people  who  say 
unpleasant  things  to  you  in  their  wills.  It's  so  darn 
unfair.  Why,  you  can't  say  a  word  back.  And  even 
if  you  did  they  wouldn't  hear  you." 

66  It  isn't  fair,"  Rosamond  conceded  sympatheti 
cally.  Then  she  smiled  a  little.  "Women  like  the 
last  word.  What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  She  said,"  replied  Jerrold,  nearly  choking  over 
the  reply,  "  that  most  inventors  were  fools  anyway. 
And  that  I'd  be  a  fool  to  go  on  inventing.  And  in 
stead  of  leaving  me  enough  money  to  push  the  thing 
through,  as  she'd  practically  promised,  she  left  me  a 
summer  hotel  down  here !  " 

"Where  on  earth  did  she  get  it?  "  inquired  Rosa 
mond  with  interest.  She  shared  Aunt  Genevieve's 
ideas  about  inventors,  as  most  women  do,  but  there 
was  no  use  hurting  young  Jerrold's  feelings  by  telling 
him  so. 

"Eh?  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Jerrold,  dis 
missing  that  part  of  it  indifferently.  "  She  owned 
odd  pieces  of  property  all  over.  She  left  my  sister 
a  candy-store  in  Terre  Haute.  Well,  there  it  is,  the 
blamed  brute,  a  second-class  hotel  named  the  Mam 
moth,  forty-two  bedrooms,  all  modern  improvements : 
and  here  am  I,  walking  round  the  blamed  thing  try 
ing  to  figure  out  what  to  do  with  it !  Mammoth ! 


78  WHY  NOT? 

It's  a  regular  elephant  on  my  hands.  They  named 
it  better  than  they  knew,  confound  them !  " 

"  Why  don't  you  sell?  "  asked  Rosamond,  who  in 
herited,  after  all,  something  of  a  business  head  from 
the  Grand-Uncle  Alvin  side  of  the  family.  "  Sell  it 
and  use  the  money  to  back  your  rotary  turbine 
engine." 

"  No,  no  !  Turbine,  not  rotary !  "  implored  Mr. 
Jerrold  frantically. 

"  Turbine,  not  rotary,"  amended  Rosamond  plac 
idly.  "  It's  the  simplest  proposition  on  earth.  I 
know  a  very  good  real-estate  dealer,  that  I  bought 
this  bungalow  through.  You  can  see  for  yourself 
that  it's  an  excellent  bungalow." 

"  Sell  it !  "  said  Richard  Jerrold  pathetically.  "  I 
only  wish  I  could!  But  it  hasn't  any  following. 
And  you  can't  sell  a  hotel  that  hasn't  any  following, 
they  say,  any  more  than  you  could  a  —  a  church 
without  a  steeple." 

"  What's  a  Following?  "  inquired  Rosamond.  It 
sounded  to  her  like  a  very  beautiful  word,  with  a 
romantic  sort  of  sound. 

"  People,"  said  Richard  Jerrold  gloomily,  "  lots 
of  people  that  have  gotten  the  habit  of  boarding  in  a 
hotel  so  badly  that  they  wouldn't  live  anywhere  else 
free." 

"  Why  hasn't  it  a  following?  "  demanded  Rosa 
mond. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Jerrold  indifferently. 


THE  WHITE  KNIGHT  79 

Things  which  didn't  concern  him  directly  evidently 
didn't  worry  him  much.  "  It  just  hasn't,  I  guess. 
So  I  can't  rent  it  and  I  can't  sell  it,  and  I  can't 
finance  my  engine,  and  I  don't  see  any  way  out.  A 
friend  of  mine  thought  I  might  get  Squire  to  back 
it  for  me,  but  he  won't." 

Rosamond  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  Her  mind 
was  divided  between  anger  at  John  Squire  for  his 
unfeelingness,  and  a  certain  unbidden  belief  way  down 
that  it  was  rather  sensible  of  him  to  be  so  unfeeling. 
For  Jerrold  had  something  of  the  same  drawback 
Rosamond  herself  possessed ;  he  was  so  decorative 
that  it  was  hard  to  imagine  him  as  useful.  How 
ever,  the  Squire's  behaviour  was  neither  here  nor 
there.  Here  was  a  real  chance  at  dream-realising, 
and  Rosamond  felt  that  she  owed  it  to  herself  to  do 
well. 

"  There  must  be  a  way  out,"  she  said  confidently. 
"Why  shouldn't  there  be?  Isn't  there  any  chance 
of  selling  it?  " 

"  Well,  there  is  one  man  named  Chisum,"  acknow 
ledged  Jerrold,  "that  wants  to  buy  it.  But  he's 
like  the  rest.  He's  buying  it  to  run,  and  he  demands 
a  Following,  the  same  way  the  other  brutes  do.  If  it 
only  had  one  he'd  take  it  like  a  shot:  and  then  I 
could  push  my  engine  and  be  a  millionaire  in  a  short 
time.  .  .  .  All  that  engine  needs  is  capital!  He'd 
take  it  this  fall,  and  pay  me  cash.  But  there  you 
are.  And  I've  got  to  live,  too." 


80  WHY  NOT? 

"  Of  course  you  have ! "  said  Rosamond  with  con 
viction.  She  saw  the  necessity  plainly.  This  was 
far  too  beautiful  and  attractive  and  clever  a  young 
man  to  be  allowed  to  fade  out  of  life  for  a  mere  lack 
of  Following.  And  besides,  he  was  so  like  a  knight 
out  of  a  story-book!  And  the  intonations  of  his 
voice,  even,  were  so  pleasant  that  she  didn't  mind 
when  he  forgot  her  and  got  switched  off  on  his  engine. 

"Let  me  think  I"  she  said,  holding  up  one  im 
perious  little  handL 

So  he  let  her  very  politely,  and  she  sat  back  in 
her  swing-seat  and  looked  at  the  moon  and  thought 
very  hard  for  four  minutes. 

"  I  know  what  you  must  do,"  she  said  finally. 
"  It's  so  simple  you'd  have  thought  of  it  yourself  in 
another  minute.  Run  the  Elephant  —  I  mean  the 
Mammoth  —  yourself!  Then  at  the  end  of  the 
season  you'll  have  heaps  of  Following.  Then  you 
can  sell  the  Mammoth  and  the  Following  (I'm  sure 
that  will  be  mammoth  too)  to  your  Chisum  man. 
Then  you  can  take  your  cash  and  push  your  inven 
tion  and  be  a  millionaire  in  a  short  time.  Even  if 
you're  not  you'll  have  had  what  you  wanted,  and 
you'll  be  more  comfortable  with  it  off  your  mind,  and 
be  able  to  go  on  with  something  else,  that  will  earn 
you  a  living." 

If  there  was  still  a  shade  of  that  inevitable  feminine 
distrust  of  inventions  in  Rosamond's  conclusion,  Jer- 
rold  did  not  notice  it.  He  was  too  much  absorbed 


THE  WHITE  KNIGHT  81 

in  her  suggestion.  He  too  sat  and  thought  in  silence 
for  some  minutes.  Then: 

"  But  I  don't  know  how  to  run  a  hotel,"  he  said 
plaintively. 

66  Did  you  know  how  to  invent  when  you  started 
in?  "  asked  Rosamond  scornfully. 

"  No,"  he  acknowledged.     <*  But  that's  different." 

"  Not  different  a  bit !  "  cried  Rosamond.  "  I  don't 
see  why  on  earth  a  man  with  enough  brains  to  invent 
a  turbine  engine  with  rotary  trimmings  hasn't  enough 
brains  to  run  a  small  red  brick  hotel.  Of  course  you 
can  —  why  not  ?  " 

She  was  an  embodied  Why  Not  as  she  sat  there 
with  her  cloak  fallen  back ;  the  kind  of  girl  who  could 
make  nearly  any  man  think  he  could  do  nearly  any 
thing. 

"  By  Jove ! "  said  Jerrold,  looking  into  her  shining 
eyes,  "  I  believe  I  could !  " 

Rosamond  swept  that  aside,  taken  for  granted. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  "  you  mayn't  like  it.  In 
fact,  I  don't  think  you  will,  for  people  who  keep 
hotels,  what  I've  seen  of  them,  seem  to  have  a  good 
deal  on  their  minds.  But  if  you  just  remember,  hard, 
that  you're  going  through  the  inevitable  uncomfort- 
ablenesses  on  the  way  to  what  you  want  most  in  the 
world,  why,  it'll  be  endurable." 

"  Endurable  ?  "  said  Richard  Jerrold  questioningly. 
He  did  not  seem  to  like  the  word  much. 

It  occurred  to  Rosamond  that,  attractive  as  he  was, 


82  WHY  NOT? 

he  must  always  have  had  everything  made  easy  for 
him  hitherto,  and  that  she  mustn't  let  this  course  of 
action  seem  so  hard. 

"  I'd  like  to  do  it,  if  it  were  me,"  she  said.  I 
should  think  it  would  be  fun  to  see  all  the  different 
kinds  of  people  who  would  come  to  the  Mammoth." 

"  Gracious !  "  he  said,  "  I  only  wish  you  could ! " 

"Well,  why  couldn't  I?"  she  asked.  "But  no, 
I  forgot.  I  have — "  she  became  very  serious  sud 
denly  — "  I  have  my  own  work.  You  see,  I  have  to 
live,  too.  But  I'll  start  you  running,"  she  offered 
generously,  ignoring  the  small  and  unimportant  fact 
that  she  knew  quite  as  little  about  the  gentle  art  of 
hotel-keeping  as  Jerrold  could  possible  know.  But 
"  it's  nothing  worse  than  keeping  house  on  a  large 
scale,"  she  reassured  herself,  "  and  I  can  keep  house 
very  well.  I  can  show  this  man  how  in  a  week  or 
so!" 

Jerrold  looked  up  hopefully  at  her. 

"  I  believe  it  can  be  put  through,"  he  said.  "  At 
least,  I  can  try.  But  honestly,  Miss  Gilbert,  if  you 
help  me  I  think  you  ought  to  have  a  percentage.  Say 
ten  per  cent,  for  getting  the  place  into  running  order, 
and  coming  over  afterwards  often  enough  to  see  that 
things  are  kept  straight.  That  would  be  only  fair, 
wouldn't  it?  " 

"  That  would  be  very  nice,"  said  Rosamond  se 
dately.  "But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  rather  you'd 
do;  get  me  customers  for  my  fortune-telling.  You 


THE  WHITE  KNIGHT  83 

know  I'm  going  to  really  do  it.  I  know  how  to  do 
it  very  well.  I  don't  see  why  it  shouldn't  be  made 
a  first-class  profession.  I'll  come  down  to  your 
hotel  every  so  often,  and  help  you,  and  then  read  the 
people's  fortunes.  Perhaps  you'd  let  me  have  a 
corner  in  your  verandah  to  do  it  in." 

"  Every  corner  there  is ! "  said  he  enthusiastically. 

"And  let  me  put  up  a  sign  in  the  Mammoth?" 
she  pursued.  "  It  would  be  a  very  high-class  sign, 
probably  quite  arts-and-craftsy  looking,  in  colours 
to  match  your  —  what  do  they  call  the  front  room 
of  a  hotel?" 

"  The  foyer,"  supplied  Jerrold  sadly. 

But  though  he  was  still  a  little  mournful,  he  seemed 
to  have  absolute  faith  that  Rosamond  could  do  what 
she  said  she  could.  So  they  stopped  discussing  that 
minor  detail,  making  a  living,  and  began  to  find  out 
instead  which  liked  Kipling  best,  and  what  music  and 
stories  and  people  and  places  they  both  knew.  When 
Rosamond  thought  it  over  afterwards  it  seemed  sur 
prising  to  her  that  Jerrold  had  accepted  her  advice 
and  her  capability  so  unquestioningly.  But  she 
did  not  realise  that  she  was  one  of  those  fortunate 
people  who  can  make  others  believe  in  them.  And 
indeed  the  world  has  gotten  into  the  habit  nowadays 
of  thinking  that  girls  can  do  almost  anything.  For 
all  Richard  Jerrold  knew  Rosamond  might  have  been 
an  efficiency  expertess  who  specialised  on  the  teach 
ing  of  strange  young  men  hotel-running. 


84  WHY  NOT? 

So  at  about  eleven  it  occurred  to  them  to  arrange 
that  Rosamond  should  come  down  and  look  the  Mam 
moth  over  at  three  next  day. 

Jerrold  went  down  the  path  singing  cheerfully, 
turned  at  the  dock  to  wave  her  a  gay  good-bye ;  and 
then  the  white  canoe  slid  out  once  more  into  the  moon 
light,  and  dipped  its  slim,  noiseless  way  along  till  it 
vanished  from  Rosamond's  range  of  vision. 

"  Just  as  if  he  were  on  his  way  to  a  Quest,"  she 
mused.  And  —  why,  it  was  like  a  Quest,  his  setting 
forth  to  realise  his  turbine  thing  that  his  voice  soft 
ened  over  so  lovingly. 

She  fell  to  dreaming  of  how  his  voice  would  learn 
to  soften  that  way  over  —  perhaps  —  her  name,  one 
day. 

"  If  he  has  all  that  capability  for  loving  a  miserable 
engine  that  can't  be  a  bit  responsive.  .  .  ." 

Rosamond  was  not  specially  vain,  but  she  knew  per 
fectly  well  that  in  her  capacity  as  a  human  girl  she 
was  much  more  attractive  than  any  turbine  that  ever 
rotated. 

But  as  she  planned  and  dreamed  it  suddenly  dawned 
on  her  that  it  might  be  as  well  to  have  some  idea  of 
hotel-running  by  eleven  next  day. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  It  was  sad  to  come 
down  to  large,  concrete  realities. 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  call  up  the  Squire ! "  she 
said. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

THE    QUEST    OF    THE    BLOODHOUND 

BEFORE  she  went  to  the  telephone  she  tried  to 
arrange  her  ideas  in  some  sort  of  a  neat  order. 
She  had  stayed  at  a  hotel  herself  once.  There  were 
chambermaids  and  people  that  cooked,  and  people  to 
wait  at  table,  and  to  run  errands,  and  a  clerk.  There 
must  be  books  to  be  kept.  Well,  a  man  could  man 
age  that  end  of  it.  Book-keeping,  Rosamond  in 
ferred,  came  to  men  by  nature.  If  you  knew  enough 
about  mathematics  to  make  engines,  why  not  enough 
to  keep  track  of  what  your  inmates  paid  you? 
Richard  Jerrold  could  surely  do  that  part  himself. 
Rosamond  remembered  hearing  Grand-Uncle  Alvin  re 
mark  grimly  that  a  man  did  well  to  do  his  own  book 
keeping. 

It  seemed  tragic,  the  thought  of  Richard  Jerrold's 
free  blue  eyes  and  strong  brown  hands  attending  to 
such  items  as  "  Mrs.  Jones:  one  week's  board  twenty 
dollars  — "  but  then,  the  Quest !  She  remembered  the 
place  in  Malory  where  Sir  Gareth  of  Orkney  washed 
dishes  steadily  for  six  months,  and  nobody  but  his 
lady-love  considered  him  a  bit  the  less  romantic:  and 

85 


86  WHY  NOT? 

she  only  pretended  not  to  like  it,  so  he  wouldn't  come 
to  the  point  too  soon. 

Well,  never  mind  that.  But  Richard  Jerrold 
couldn't  run  all  the  other  things  alone,  even  with 
Rosamond  to  help  him. 

"  I'll  have  to  get  him  a  housekeeper,"1  she  re 
membered,  "  one  who'll  be  honest,  and  not  steal,  but 
have  a  feudal  devotion  to  him." 

But  one  couldn't  very  well  advertise  —  could  one? 
— "  Wanted,  housekeeper  with  feudal  devotion  ?  " 

The  words  brought  something  to  Rosamond's  mind 
with  a  jerk  —  Martha!  There  was  feudal  devotion 
for  you,  if  you  like:  only  fearfully  misdirected, 
lavished  on  the  Squire,  who  had  everything  on  earth 
without  it.  Yet  perhaps  one  could  borrow  Martha 
for  a  while.  It  would  only  be  fair,  she  calculated, 
after  having  had  to  keep  her  whether  she  wanted  to 
or  not.  And  probably  Martha  knew  somebody  of 
her  own  kind,  whose  affections  hadn't  already  been 
won. 

Rosamond  sprang  up  and  ran  in  to  call  up  the 
Squire.  She  had  a  half-idea  that  he  would  be  placidly 
in  bed  by  an  hour  like  eleven-thirty,  but  he  wasn't. 
He  was  on  the  verandah,  somebody's  respectful  voice 
said,  and  they  would  call  him. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  were  enjoying  the 
moonlight  ?  "  she  demanded  irrepressibly  when  they 
finally  did  get  him  on  the  wire. 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  BLOODHOUND     87 

"  Yes,"  Mr.  Squire's  voice  acknowledged,  "  I  was. 
Don't  you  think  I  enjoy  even  moonlight?  " 

"  Well,  it  seemed  like  a  rather  frivolous  pleasure 
for  my  idea  of  you,"  she  admitted.  "  You  and  the 
enjoyment  of  moonlight  don't  exactly  dovetail.  I 
could  think  of  you  as  enjoying  a  fine  July  sun  in  the 
morning,  perhaps.  But  it  really  is  awfully  good 
moonlight,  and  I'm  glad  you  like  it.  And  I  hope 
it  has  softened  your  landlordly  heart,  because  I  want 
something.  Please,  good,  kind  Mr.  Squire,  will  you 
take  me  out  in  your  big  shiny  machine  to-morrow 
morning?  You  can  bring  Martha  along  to  chaperone 
you,  and  I'll  take  Alicia  Lauretta  if  you  like.  I  guess 
I  will  anyway.  I  think  it  is  time  I  went  on  the  track 
of  my  Livonian  bloodhound.  I  feel  as  if  I  couldn't 
get  on  without  him  a  minute  longer.  So  can  you 
have  your  car  ready  about  nine?  " 

Even  Squires  turn  occasionally. 

"  Suppose  I  can't?  "  the  deep  voice  at  the  other  end 
of  the  line  inquired  coolly. 

"  Then  you'll  miss  a  very  enjoyable  morning  in 
my  society,"  said  Rosamond  with  equal  coolness, 
though  she  felt  very  much  chilled  for  the  moment, 
"  and  I  shall  have  to  walk.  And  I  shall  return  weary 
and  footsore  and  die  on  your  doorstep,  and  the 
coroner's  inquest  will  be  lots  more  trouble  than  it 
would  have  been  to  tell  them  to  get  your  car  ready. 
I  don't  know  but  I'll  have  Alicia  Lauretta  and  the 


90  WHY  NOT? 

She  handed  Allie  the  first  bill  she  found  in  her 
pocket-hook  and  darted  back  to  the  front  door  to 
open  it.  Behind  it  was  a  big,  kind  man,  and  a  big 
shiny  motor,  and  a  dazzling  spring  morning,  and  a 
ride  down  wonderful  unknown  roads  that  might  be 
full  of  anything  lovely  at  all:  and  how  could  you  stop 
to  deal  with  milkmen? 

The  Squire  in  person  was  standing  and  smiling  on 
the  porch,  looking  as  strong  and  cheerful  and  as  much 
too  big  for  the  bungalow  as  always. 

a  Oh,  if  s  lovely  of  you  to  take  us ! "  said  Rosa 
mond  radiantly. 

Mr.  Squire  smiled. 

**I  rather  understood  you  were  taking  me!*'  he 
suggested. 

"Dont  be  horrid,"  she  said.  "It's  one  of  the 
loveliest  mornings  that  ever  existed,  and  I'm  happy, 
and  the  car's  happy  —  hear  how  it  purrs!  —  and 
don't  remind  me  of  past  crimes !  * 

"  Oh,  it's  not  a  crime  to  let  a  man  go  out  in  his 
own  car,"  said  the  Squire  proyokingly.  He  seemed 
in  rather  good  spirits  himself,  and  it  struck  Rosamond 
that  he  was  doing  something  surprisingly  near  teas 
ing  her.  It  seemed  incongruous  with  his  late  firm 
ness  about  refusing  to  finance  Jerrold's  engine. 

"We'll  have  to  walk  over  a  little  way  to  the  ma 
chine,  you  know,"  he  suggested,  quite  as  if  no  re 
fusals  were  on  his  conscience.  "  Is  your  orphan  go 
ing,  did  you  say?  " 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  BLOODHOUND     91 

"  Oh,  yes,  she's  quite  ready ;  she  only  ran  back  to 
pay  the  milkman.  Allie!  Lock  the  kitchen  door 
and  come,  dear." 

Allie  shut  and  locked  the  door  audibly  and  rather 
abruptly,  for  they  heard  a  low  growl  of  discontent 
as  if  from  an  invisible  milkman.  Then  she  came 
frisking  through  the  house  in  all  the  glory  of 
a  new  pongee  coat  and  Rosamond's  own  second-best 
veil. 

"  I  fixed  the  milkman,"  she  said  breathlessly,  danc 
ing  in  wild  circles  around  the  other  two,  who  were 
making  their  way  to  the  road  where  the  machine  stood 
waiting. 

"  We're  going  to  take  Martha  along,  to  look  after 
Allie,"  announced  the  Squire  firmly,  in  answer  to 
Rosamond's  look  of  surprise  as  they  stopped  at  his 
own  house.  "  They  can  sit  together  on  the  back 
seat.  Martha  likes  children,  and  she  can  answer  all 
Allie's  questions.  That  will  leave  your  mind  free 
for  the  bloodhound,  you  see." 

"  That  will  be  very  nice,"  said  Rosamond  sedately. 
She  was  really  delighted,  for  Allie  was  one  too  many 
when  you  wanted  to  have  a  heart-to-heart  talk  with 
people.  She  never  interrupted,  but  you  had  a  fatal 
feeling  that  it  was  because  she  was  taking  notes  too 
hard.  And  Martha  was  one  of  those  superlatively 
well-trained  servants  who  could  make  almost  any  one 
into  the  Perfect  Master  or  Perfect  Mistress.  So  it 
was  with  a  good  deal  of  pleasure  that  she  greeted  the 


90  WHY  NOT? 

She  handed  Allie  the  first  bill  she  found  in  her 
pocket-book  and  darted  back  to  the  front  door  to 
open  it.  Behind  it  was  a  big,  kind  man,  and  a  big 
shiny  motor,  and  a  dazzling  spring  morning,  and  a 
ride  down  wonderful  unknown  roads  that  might  be 
full  of  anything  lovely  at  all :  and  how  could  you  stop 
to  deal  with  milkmen? 

The  Squire  in  person  was  standing  and  smiling  on 
the  porch,  looking  as  strong  and  cheerful  and  as  much 
too  big  for  the  bungalow  as  always. 

"  Oh,  it's  lovely  of  you  to  take  us ! "  said  Rosa 
mond  radiantly. 

Mr.  Squire  smiled. 

"  I  rather  understood  you  were  taking  me ! "  he 
suggested. 

"Don't  be  horrid,"  she  said.  "It's  one  of  the 
loveliest  mornings  that  ever  existed,  and  I'm  happy, 
and  the  car's  happy  —  hear  how  it  purrs! — -and 
don't  remind  me  of  past  crimes !  " 

"  Oh,  it's  not  a  crime  to  let  a  man  go  out  in  his 
own  car,"  said  the  Squire  provokingly.  He  seemed 
in  rather  good  spirits  himself,  and  it  struck  Rosamond 
that  he  was  doing  something  surprisingly  near  teas 
ing  her.  It  seemed  incongruous  with  his  late  firm 
ness  about  refusing  to  finance  Jerrold's  engine. 

"  We'll  have  to  walk  over  a  little  way  to  the  ma 
chine,  you  know,"  he  suggested,  quite  as  if  no  re 
fusals  were  on  his  conscience.  "  Is  your  orphan  go 
ing,  did  you  say?  " 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  BLOODHOUND     91 

"  Oh,  yes,  she's  quite  ready ;  she  only  ran  back  to 
pay  the  milkman.  Allie!  Lock  the  kitchen  door 
and  come,  dear." 

Allie  shut  and  locked  the  door  audibly  and  rather 
abruptly,  for  they  heard  a  low  growl  of  discontent 
as  if  from  an  invisible  milkman.  Then  she  came 
frisking  through  the  house  in  all  the  glory  of 
a  new  pongee  coat  and  Rosamond's  own  second-best 
veil. 

"  I  fixed  the  milkman,"  she  said  breathlessly,  danc 
ing  in  wild  circles  around  the  other  two,  who  were 
making  their  way  to  the  road  where  the  machine  stood 
waiting. 

"  We're  going  to  take  Martha  along,  to  look  after 
Allie,"  announced  the  Squire  firmly,  in  answer  to 
Rosamond's  look  of  surprise  as  they  stopped  at  his 
own  house.  "  They  can  sit  together  on  the  back 
seat.  Martha  likes  children,  and  she  can  answer  all 
Allie's  questions.  That  will  leave  your  mind  free 
for  the  bloodhound,  you  see." 

"  That  will  be  very  nice,"  said  Rosamond  sedately. 
She  was  really  delighted,  for  Allie  was  one  too  many 
when  you  wanted  to  have  a  heart-to-heart  talk  with 
people.  She  never  interrupted,  but  you  had  a  fatal 
feeling  that  it  was  because  she  was  taking  notes  too 
hard.  And  Martha  was  one  of  those  superlatively 
well-trained  servants  who  could  make  almost  any  one 
into  the  Perfect  Master  or  Perfect  Mistress.  So  it 
was  with  a  good  deal  of  pleasure  that  she  greeted  the 


92  WHY  NOT? 

old  woman,  who  got  stiffly  into  the  back  seat  and  took 
AUie  in  hand  on  the  spot. 

"  Little  ladies  don't  stare,  Miss  Alicia,"  Rosa 
mond  heard  her  saying.  "  Sit  still,  Miss,  and  look 
at  the  pretty  scenery  going  by.  And  —  oh,  Miss 
Alicia,  what  nails !  " 

Rosamond  thought  that  if  she  had  been  tutored 
that  way  at  Allie's  age  she  would  have  jumped  out  of 
the  car  by  this  time.  But  apparently  her  orphan 
liked  it.  The  pleasure  of  being  Miss-Aliciaed  by  a 
family  servant  of  impeccable  appearance  evidently 
outweighed  the  annoyance  of  being  improved,  for 
Rosamond  saw  her  cuddle  nearer  to  Martha,  and  look 
perfectly  happy.  And  of  course,  when  the  machine 
began  to  speed  a  little,  you  couldn't  hear  the  back 
seat  from  the  front,  nor  the  front  seat  from  the  back, 
which  is  always  more  or  less  of  a  comfort. 

"  Just  what  kind  of  a  servant  is  Martha?  "  asked 
Rosamond  suddenly  from  under  her  American- 
Beauty-coloured  auto  veil.  "  I  don't  suppose  you 
keep  her  entirely  to  loan  out  to  young  persons  in 
need  of  her.  But  she  always  seems  free  to  do  ex 
actly  what  you  want  her  to  when  you  want  her." 

"  You  want  to  know  her  legal,  or  her  real  status  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Squire,  looking  up  from  the  wheel. 

"  Why,  both,  of  course.  Everything,"  Rosamond 
answered  promptly. 

"  She  began  as  my  nurse,"  he  said  a  little  doubt- 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  BLOODHOUND      93 

fully.  "  And  I'm  afraid  she  still  thinks  she  is  rather, 
sometimes,  dear  old  thing !  She  was  the  housekeeper 
for  a  good  many  years  after  I  was  too  old  for  nurses. 
Now  she's  a  sort  of  super-housekeeper,  with  no  actual 
duties  but  seeing  that  things  go  right  generally. 
That's  her  legal  status." 

"And  her  real?"  asked  Rosamond.  There  was 
a  certain  something  in  the  Squire's  manner  that  sug 
gested  feeling.  But  could  such  as  Squires,  oppres 
sors  of  the  young  inventor  and  the  prospective  for 
tune-teller —  could  Squires  feel?  Rosamond  listened 
hard. 

"  Real?  "  he  said,  "  why,  I  suppose  I  feel  very  much 
as  if  she  were  a  close  relation.  She  is  the  nearest  I 
have  to  a  family.  We  are  —  in  short,  we  are  ex 
ceedingly  fond  of  each  other." 

Fond !-  It  hadn't  dawned  on  Rosamond  before  that 
he  was  a  person  of  whom  you  could  think  in  terms  of 
fondness.  It  didn't  connect  with  him  in  the  least, 
to  her  mind.  Could  a  large,  serious-minded  man 
who  seemed  to  want  everybody  to  do  what  he  told 
them  to  have  affections?  .  .  .  Evidently  he  was  a 
much  more  human  person  than  she'd  thought  before. 
Also  Martha's  feudal  devotion  was  amply  accounted 
for.  At  about  that  time  Rosamond  remembered  what 
she  wanted. 

"  Has  Martha  any  relatives  who  also  housekeep  ?  " 
she  asked,  with  an  eye  to  the  main  chance. 


94  WHY  NOT? 

"  I  think  not,"  he  said.  "  Were  you  — - "  there  was 
a  distinct  light  of  approval  in  his  eye  — "  were  you 
thinking  of  hiring  a  housekeeper?  " 

Rosamond  shook  her  head. 

"Not  for  myself,"  she  said,  and  the  light  died 
liown,  "but  for  a  —  a  client." 

"  We'll  see  what  Martha  can  do  for  you,"  he  said 
encouragingly,  evidently  hoping  that  the  client  part 
of  the  story  was  a  myth. 

"  Then  may  I  borrow  Martha  this  afternoon  to 
help  the  client  a  little?  You  see,  she  knows  such  lots 
of  things  that  the  client  needs  to  learn." 

"Why,  with  pleasure,  if  she  is  willing,"  he  an 
swered  unsuspiciously.  "  I'll  send  you  both  wherever 
you  want  to  go  in  the  little  cart,  if  you  don't  mind. 
It's  Martha's  favourite  way  of  travel." 

"  Thank  you,"  murmured  Rosamond,  a  little  sub- 
duedly  for  her.  It  seemed  unfair  someway,  though 
she  couldn't  figure  to  herself  just  why,  to  use  Mr. 
Squire's  pet  servant  and  the  pet  servant's  pet  cart 
for  the  ends  of  the  White  Knight.  She  sighed  and 
forgot  to  talk  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  Tired?  "  asked  her  companion  solicitously,  bend 
ing  a  little  to  look  at  her.  "We're  nearly  at  the 
first  kennels.  There  are  three  along  this  road,  quite 
close  together." 

His  voice  was  so  kindly  and  friendly  that  it  sounded 
as  if  he  were  forgiving  her  in  advance  for  everything 
she'd  done  anyway.  So  she  took  heart  of  grace,  and 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  BLOODHOUND     95 

chattered  en  joy  ably  sixteen  to  the  dozen,  till  the 
kennels  appeared. 

They  were  not  at  all  what  Rosamond  had  expected. 

"  Oh,  are  those  kennels  ?  "  she  asked  blankly. 

The  Squire  nodded. 

"  Yes,  they're  the  famous  Sherwin  kennels,"  he  said. 
"  You've  heard  of  them,  haven't  you?  " 

Rosamond  looked  at  them. 

"  I  think  so,"  she  said  vaguely.  "  But  that's  just 
a  house,  with  a  long  barn  at  the  back!  Oh,  and 
they're  keeping  some  of  the  dogs  under  the  front 
piazza ! " 

"Isn't  it  what  you  expected?"  he  asked  as  he 
helped  her  to  alight. 

Rosamond  shook  her  head.  "  It's  a  little  informal 
for  my  ideas  of  what  kennels  should  be.  I  think 
I  imagined  long  rows  of  glass  houses  or  something 
like  that,  with  rows  of  liveried  menials  processing  up 
and  down  with  dogs  on  chains.  But  I  suppose  the 
kennelleer  (is  that  what  you  call  him?)  knows  best 
how  to  do  it." 

"  You  see,  he  has  to  live  somewhere,"  apologized 
the  Squire,  "  and  living  near  one's  dogs  is  convenient, 
you  know." 

So  the  procession  entered  the  house  and  was  in 
troduced  to  the  kennelleer.  He  also  was  quite  dis 
appointing,  in  that  he  had  no  visible  marks  of  his 
calling,  except  that  he  was  entirely  surrounded  by 
wildly  worshipping  bull-pups.  He  seemed  glad  to 


96  WHY  NOT? 

see  the  Squire,  who  came  almost  straight  to  the  point 
of  his  visit. 

"  This  young  lady,"  he  said  after  he  had  intro 
duced  her,  "  wants  a  dog  of  an  especial  kind.  A  — 
what  did  you  say  it  was  to  be,  Miss  Gilbert  ?  " 

"  A  Livonian  bloodhound,"  supplied  Rosamond,  a 
trifle  defiantly. 

"  I  thought  you  could  put  her  on  the  track  of  such 
a  dog,  if  it  existed.  You  handle  about  every  kind 
there  is,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  A  what  kind  of  bloodhound?  "  inquired  the  ken- 
nelleer,  bending  swiftly  to  pat  a  bull-pup. 

"  Livonian,  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Squire's  deep  and 
unruffled  voice.  Rosamond  felt  very  glad  that  he  was 
as  tall  and  dignified  and  deep-voiced  as  he  was,  for 
without  him  she  was  not  sure  that  the  kennelleer  would 
have  treated  her  quest  with  absolute  respect. 

"  Livonian  ?  "  he  repeated,  evidently  working  for 
time.  "  A  plain  one,  now,  like  the  one  I  sold  Bob 
Fitzsimmons,  wouldn't  do  for  the  lady  ?  " 

The  lady  answered  for  herself.  "  Not  in  the  very 
least,"  she  said  energetically.  She  sat  down  on  the 
nearest  chair.  To  do  it  she  had  to  remove  a  bull- 
pup  and  transfer  him  to  her  lap,  where  he  opened  one 
eye,  turned  round  twice,  and  went  to  sleep  again. 
"  A  Livonian  one  is  the  only  kind  I  want." 

"  Well,"  the  kennelleer  admitted  sadly,  "  I  haven't 
any  of  that  kind  in  stock.  I  never  heard  of  'em,  to 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  BLOODHOUND     97 

ibe  honest  with  you.  You  couldn't  give  me  an  idea 
of  his  points,  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  see,  you  may  have  him  under  another 
name,"  said  Rosamond  with  renewed  hope.  "  Well, 
you  see  I  only  read  about  him  in  a  book  which  didn't 
give  all  his  points."  She  looked  furtively  at  the 
Squire.  She  expected  him  to  disapprove  a  little  here. 
But  he  stood  immovably  behind  her,  expressing  in 
every  line,  to  the  dog-man  at  least,  that  he  was  back 
ing  up  Rosamond  in  her  quest,  and  that  it  was  an 
eminently  sensible  one.  Rosamond  felt  a  wild  im 
pulse  of  gratitude,  and  a  desire  to  give  him  some 
thing  —  anything  —  he  wanted.  After  all,  there  are 
times  when  it  is  the  greatest  comfort  in  the  world  to 
have  large,  conservative  people  back  you  up  and 
approve  of  you.  She  smiled  and  looked  up  confi 
dently  at  the  owner  of  the  kennels. 

"  The  dog  in  the  book  was  large  and  powerful, 
with  strong  f orequarters  and  a  threatening  j  owl ;  and 
he  bore  three  drunken  ruffians  that  were  chasing  the 
heroine  to  the  ground  at  one  bound." 

"  I  suppose  he  got  the  right  and  left  ones,  one  with 
each  f orequarter,  and  bit  the  one  in  the  middle ! " 
Allie  broke  excitedly  into  the  conversation. 

But  the  kennelleer  was  too  interested  in  the  prob 
lem  before  him  to  pay  attention  to  Allie,  who  snug 
gled  up  to  Rosamond  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  know  I  haven't  any  such  dog,"  he  said,  and 


98  WHY  NOT? 

added  seductively,  *'  You  wouldn't  like  a  nice  little 
toy  bull,  now,  nor  a  Pom?  They'd  be  more  of  a 
lady's  pet." 

"  But  that  isn't  what  I  want,"  Rosamond  ex 
plained.  "  You  know  when  you  really  want  a  thing 
you  don't  want  anything  else." 

The  owner  of  the  kennels  looked  at  her  and  smiled, 
his  face  softening  as  people's  faces  were  wont  to  soften 
over  Rosamond's  young  eagernesses  and  enthusiasms. 

"  I  know  how  that  is,"  he  said.  "  When  I  was 
young  I  used  to  want  things  that  way.  But  when 
you  have  your  living  to  earn  you  get  to  forget,  by 
and  bye,  whether  you  want  things  or  not.  I  guess  I 
haven't  stopped  to  think  whether  I  cared  about  things 
like  that  for  years.  Wouldn't  get  'em,  most  likely, 
you  know,  if  I  did." 

Rosamond  forgot  her  own  quest  in  her  interest  in 
the  man's  words. 

"  But  you  would !  "  she  said  eagerly.  "  The  only 
reason  people  don't  get  things  is  that  they  don't  want 
them  hard  enough,  or  think  they'll  get  them  strongly 
enough.  I  know  I'll  get  just  that  kind  of  a  dog 
presently,  if  I  can  only  keep  on  wanting  him  and  ex 
pecting  him  to  come  trotting  in.  Why  shouldn't 
I?" 

She  had  risen  in  her  excitement,  and  stood  looking 
at  the  two  men  over  the  puppy  in  her  arms,  with  her 
face  vivid. 

"  You  have  to  go  and  get  things,  too,  if  you  want 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  BLOODHOUND     99 

them,"  she  added.  "  Almost  everything's  there  to 
take;  if  you  want  it  badly  enough  to  take  it!  The 
trouble  is,  most  people  don't  want  things  badly 
enough  to  go  and  get  them." 

The  two  men  near  her  smiled  at  her.  There  was 
a  sense  in  the  room  as  if  she  was  making  them  gifts 
by  her  very  promise  of  "  things  being  there  to 
have." 

"  You  shall  have  the  dog  you  want,  anyway,"  said 
the  kennel-man,  "  if  I  can  find  him  for  you.  And  I 
believe  I'm  going  to  try  for  some  of  those  things  I 
used  to  want.  I  never  thought  of  it  that  way  be 
fore." 

"  It's  that  way,"  answered  Rosamond  gaily. 

"Perhaps  you  could  find  what  you're  looking  for 
in  this,"  suggested  John  Squire. 

He  reached  up  to  a  shelf  as  he  spoke,  and  pulled 
down  a  large,  shabby  volume  labelled  simply  "  The 
Dog." 

"  That's  it,"  the  kennelleer  said  enthusiastically. 
"  If  there  is  that  kind  of  a  bloodhound  she'll  find  him 
in  that!" 

She  sat  down,  still  holding  fast  to  the  puppy,  and 
began  to  go  through  "  The  Dog  "  with  care.  Mr. 
Squire  and  the  kennel-man  stood  close  behind  her, 
looking  with  her.  Allie  and  Martha,  in  the  back 
ground,  seemed  less  excited,  but  the  whole  party  was 
obviously  excited  about  the  quest  of  the  Livonian 
bloodhound.  Rosamond  went  through  the  book  care- 


100  WHY  NOT? 

fully  twice,  once  with  her  gloves  on  and  once  with 
them  off.  Then  she  appealed  to  Mr.  Squire. 

"  Won't  you  look,  please  ?  "  she  said.  "  You're 
much  more  thorough  than  I  am." 

He  sat  down  obediently  and  went  through  the  book 
a  third  time,  while  she  and  Martha  stood  behind  him 
and  looked  too.  The  kennel-man  had  become  con 
vinced  by  this  time  that  the  dog  wasn't  there. 

Nobody  saw  Allie  vanish,  but  vanish  she  did;  for 
when  they  were  finally  convinced  that  wherever  the 
Livonian  bloodhound  might  be  he  wasn't  in  the  book, 
there  was  no  Allie  to  be  seen.  While  the  Squire 
stopped  for  a  moment's  private  conversation  with  the 
kennel-man,  Martha  and  Rosamond  went  through  all 
the  kennel  grounds  hunting  for  the  missing  child. 
But  she  was  not  to  be  found,  there  or  in  the  machine. 

"  She's  probably  on  her  way  to  Smith's  kennels, 
a  little  farther  on,"  said  Mr.  Squire  consolingly. 
"  We'll  drive  slowly  till  we  find  her.  If  she  comes 
back  here  hold  on  to  her,  Sherwin." 

"  Sure  I  will ! "  said  Mr.  Sherwin  cheerfully.  It 
was  the  first  intimation  Rosamond  had  had  that  he 
possessed  a  name.  "  And  I'll  hold  any  bloodhounds 
of  that  variety  that  stray  in,  too,"  he  added.  "  You 
certainly  ought  to  have  that  dog,  Miss  Gilbert." 

So  the  machine  crawled  slowly  up  the  road,  with  its 
occupants  watching  for  the  missing  orphan.  The 
road  made  a  sharp  turn  a  little  way  beyond  Sherwin's. 
And  Rosamond  took  a  breath  of  relief,  for  there, 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  BLOODHOUND      101 

toiling  bravely  toward  them,  was  a  small  figure  that 
could  be  no  other  than  the  lost  Allie.  But  she  was 
not  alone.  She  held  one  end  of  a  worried-looking 
rope.  On  the  end  she  did  not  hold  was  a  dog.  He 
was  a  large,  dejected-looking  yellow  animal,  with 
ragged  ears ;  but  evidently  of  either  a  crushed  or  a 
grateful  disposition,  because  he  was  so  much  bigger 
than  his  leader  that  his  escape  from  her  would  have 
been  simple  if  he'd  wanted  to  leave.  You  could  see 
that  he  appreciated  being  somebody's  dog,  because 
every  few  steps  he  would  stop  to  wag  a  tail  not  much 
smaller  than  his  leading-rope.  Rosamond  took  one 
look,  and  began  to  laugh. 

"  There's  the  child! "  said  Mr.  Squire  at  the  same 
moment,  then,  "  What  are  you  laughing  at,  Miss 
Rosamond?  " 

Rosamond  tried  to  stop  laughing,  as  the  machine 
checked  level  with  Allie  and  her  associate. 

But  Rosamond  could  scarcely  reply.  "  I  think  — 
I  think — "  she  began  to  say,  and  went  off  into  fits 
of  helpless  laughter  again. 

"  Miss  Alicia,"  interrupted  Martha's  voice  of 
authority  from  the  back  seat,  <c  don't  you  know  that 
little  ladies  shouldn't  pick  up  strange  dogs?  Where 
did  you  get  him  ?  " 

Allie  toiled  nearer,  and  brought  the  dog  to  anchor 
close  by  the  motor. 

"  He  ain't  —  aren't  —  a  strange  dog,"  she  ex 
plained,  trying  to  get  her  breath.  "  Anyway,  he 


102  WHY  NOT? 

won't  be.  He's— why,  Martha,  he's—"  Allie 
beamed  all  over  her  dusty  little  face  — "  he's  that 
Livening  bloodhound  Auntie  wanted !  " 

"  I  knew  it !  "  said  Rosamond,  and  began  to  laugh 
irrepressibly  again.  The  others  were  struck  dumb. 
Presently  Rosamond  made  herself  stop  laughing,  for 
Allie's  lip  began  to  quiver.  "  Thank  you,  dear,"  she 
said.  "  It  was  lovely  of  you  to  go  and  find  him  for 
me.  But  are  you  quite  sure  he's  the  right  kind? 
Where  did  you  find  him?  " 

"  Do  you  like  him  ?  Oh,  I'm  so  glad !  "  beamed 
Allie,  coming  closer,  and  handing  over  his  leading- 
rope  to  Rosamond.  "  I  didn't  find  him,  Auntie  dear. 
I  purchased  him  off  a  man.  I  walked  down  the  road 
and  met  a  man.  And  I  says  —  remarked  —  to  him, 
6  Do  you  know  where  I  could  buy  a  Livening  blood 
hound  cheap  ?  '  And  he  remarked,  *  Sure  I  do !  I 
got  one  for  sale  right  now !  I  left  him  restin'  a  piece 
back,  and  I'll  sell  him  reasonable.'  So  he  took  me 
down  the  road  a  piece,  an'  there  was  this  bloodhound, 
just  as  good  as  he  could  be,  asleep  at  the  side  of  the 
road.  An'  I  bought  him  right  away.  The  man 
threw  in  the  rope.  It  was  tied  to  the  bloodhound's 
neck." 

She  patted  her  forlorn  find  proudly,  and  waited 
for  commendation.  But  Rosamond's  mind  was  pinned 
to  one  point  of  Allie's  story. 

"  Allie,  where  on  earth  did  you  get  the  money  ?  " 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  BLOODHOUND      103 

she  asked,  as  a  fearful  idea  came  to  her.  "  Did  that 
man  —  I  don't  believe  he  owned  him  —  sell  you  the 
dog  for  the  quarter  I  gave  you  yesterday  ?  " 

"  He  wasn't  worth  more  than  that,"  said  Mr.  Squire 
soothingly  at  her  elbow. 

But  the  yellow  dog  wagged  his  tail,  and  whined 
protestingly,  as  if  to  deny  that  he  was  only  worth 
a  quarter.  And  — 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  denied  Allie  proudly.  "  He's  worth  a 
lot  more'n  that.  He's  worth  forty  dollars,  the  man 
said,  but  he  sold  him  for  the  fiver  you  gimme  —  gave 
me  —  for  the  milkman  1 " 

"  The  five  dollars  I  gave  you  for  the  milkman ! " 
gasped  Rosamond,  as  the  scene  of  the  morning,  when 
she  thrust  the  first  bill  she  could  find  into  Allie's  hand 
for  the  milk-bill,  came  back  to  her.  Allie  looked  a 
little  uneasy. 

"  But  Mrs.  Simmons  always  said  to  never  pay  folks 
the  first  time  they  brought  their  bills,  'cause  by  the 
next  time  they  came  you  might  have  moved,  an'  then 
you'd  be  that  much  in.  I  was  goin'  to  give  it  back 
to  you,  only  I  seen  the  Livening  dog,  an'  I  thought 
you  wanted  him,  an'  I  knew  you  mightn't  be  able  to 
get  him  anywheres  else,  an' —  an' — " 

Allie  was  dangerously  near  tears,  as  she  saw  that 
her  adored  "  Auntie  "  was  beginning,  for  the  first 
time  since  she  had  known  her,  to  look  severe.  But 
she  braced  herself,  and  came  close  to  the  door  Rosa- 


104  WHY  NOT? 

mond  was  bending  over.  She  lifted  a  tense  little 
flushed  face  to  Rosamond,  who  was  still  mechanically 
holding  the  mournful  mongrel's  rope. 

"  Ain't  he  a  Lvuonmg  bloodhound  at  all?,  "  she  de 
manded  wildly. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

THE  RED  BEICK  ELEPHANT 

T  |  iHERE  was  a  moment  of  silence.  Then  Rosa- 
j[  mond  sprang  impulsively  out  of  the  machine 
and  gathered  Allie,  rope  and  all,  into  her  arms. 

"  Why,  of  course,  you  poor  darling ! "  she  said* 
"  For  all  we  know  it  may  be.  At  least,"  she  added 
ruefully,  "  there's  no  reason  to  suppose  it's  anything 
else!" 

She  gazed  around  her  defiantly,  over  Allie's  head. 
But  nobody  refuted  her. 

"  Not  the  faintest  reason  I "  replied  the  Squire 
solemnly.  "  You  had  better  put  the  animal  into  the 
tonneau  beside  Allie,  and  we'll  take  him  home  —  if 
you  mean  to  keep  him,  that  is." 

"  Certainly  I  mean  to  keep  him,"  she  said  stoutly ; 
though  her  own  eyes  were  dangerously  near  filling 
with  tears  as  she  glanced  for  a  moment  (she  did  not 
dare  to  look  longer)  at  the  gaunt  ungainliness  of  the 
big,  forlorn  mongrel  who  was  henceforth  to  be  her 
family  dog. 

Rosamond  had  not  really,  in  her  heart  of  hearts, 
expected  to  secure  a  dog  who  was  exactly  the  dog 
of  her  imagination.  But  she  hadn't  seen  why  an 

105 


106  WHY  NOT? 

authentic  Livonian  bloodhound  shouldn't  exist,  nor 
why  she  shouldn't  one  day  find  him.  But  one  dog, 
expecially  as  big  a  one  as  this,  was  all  she  could  ex 
pect  to  support.  One  of  her  pet  dreams  was  gone, 
and  this  thing,  which  was  really  more  of  a  dejected 
yellow  nightmare,  would  have  to  occupy  his  place. 
It  did  seem  hard! 

Nevertheless  she  managed  to  laugh  up  at  the  Squire 
as  she  got  in  again  by  him,  Allie  and  the  dog  having 
been  stowed  with  Martha  behind. 

"  You  know,"  she  said,  "  if  you  want  to  laugh  at 
me  I  don't  mind  a  bit." 

But  for  some  reason  the  Squire  didn't  seem  to  think 
her  amusing  at  all. 

"  One  couldn't  be  mournful  with  you  for  a  neigh 
bour,  certainly,"  he  said,  "  but  I  don't  see  how  any 
body  could  laugh  at  the  way  you  took  that.  ...  I 
think  our  bloodhound  may  be  hungry  and  thirsty. 
Shall  we  stop  at  Sherwin's  on  the  way  back,  and  see 
if  he  can  get  it  a  drink  and  a  dog-biscuit?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  said  Rosamond  meekly,  though 
she  secretly  wasn't  wild  about  having  Sherwin  see 
what  she  had  in  the  way  of  a  bloodhound.  Then  her 
hopefulness  came  to  the  surface,  and  she  brightened 
again.  "  He'll  be  able  to  tell  us  what  kind  of  a  dog 
this  is." 

So,  over  the  gratefully  lapping  animal  Rosamond 
did  find  courage  to  inquire.  Mr.  Sherwin  looked  at 
the  dog  very  carefully  for  quite  a  little  while  before 


THE  RED  BRICK  ELEPHANT        107 

he  answered.  He  seemed  to  want  to  be  sure  he  was 
making  no  mistake. 

"  Well,"  he  decided  at  last,  "  he's  sort  of  founded 
on  mastiff.  Not  but  what  he's  got  a  dash  of  bull  in 
those  hindquarters.  Or  it  might  be  a  bit  of  coach- 
dog.  And  a  touch  of  pointer  .  .  .  well,  to  be  honest 
with  you,  Miss  Gilbert,  the  only  things  I'd  want  to 
be  sure  that  mu  —  dog  didn't  have  in  him  would  be 
bloodhound  and  Pomeranian.  Not  but  what  he  looks 
to  be  a  very  nice  dog,"  he  added  hastily.  "  Would 
you  like  me  to  have  him  washed  up  for  you,  and  sent 
down  to  you  when  he's  dry?  He'll  look  lots  better 
when  he's  clean  and  has  a  tasty  ribbon,  maybe,  on 
his  neck." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Rosamond,  brightening.  "  That's 
a  very  kind  idea.  Mr.  Squire,  what  colour  ribbon 
looks  best  on  yellow  dogs  ?  " 

They  decided  on  a  sage-green.  The  bloodhound 
disliked  parting  from  Allie,  but  he  did.  He  seemed 
submissive  enough,  and  rather  pathetically  wistful. 

"  The  spaniel  will  be  up  by  to-morrow,"  Mr  Sher- 
win  added,  and  then  checked  himself.  But  it  was  too 
late.  The  mischief  had  been  done. 

"What  spaniel?  "  Rosamond  asked  hastily. 

"  Oh,  just  a  spaniel,"  said  Mr.  Sherwin  confusedly. 

The  Squire  also  looked  confused,  so  Rosamond 
demanded  to  know  who  the  spaniel  was  for. 

"  I'll  explain  as  we  go,"  said  the  Squire.  "  One 
dog  the  size  of  that  mongrel  is  enough,"  he  added 


108  WHY  NOT? 

as  they  went  on  home.  "  But  I  thought  you'd  like 
another,  perhaps ;  a  pretty  little  thing  you  could  have 
for  a  pet.  So  Sherwin's  going  to  get  one  for  you. 
I  hated  to  see  you  disappointed,"  he  added  in  a  lower 
voice,  as  if  it  were  something  he  was  rather  ashamed 
about. 

Rosamond  smiled  up  at  him  gratefully,  and  he 
seemed  surprised. 

"  You  don't  mind?  "  he  asked. 

"  Mind? "  she  said,  almost  indignantly,  "  when 
somebody  tries  to  do  something  lovely  for  me  ?  Why, 
you  must  have  thought  I  was  a  dreadful  sort  of  a 
person.  No,  indeed,  I  think  you  are  as  kind  as  you 
can  be.  Do  you  know,  that's  the  first  present  any 
body  ever  gave  me  without  any  reason  for  it,  in  my 
life!  I  always  wanted  one  that  wasn't  a  Christmas 
or  a  birthday  or  any  kind  of  a  present  I  expected 
to  have.  And  now  I  have  it.  Why,  it's  lovely  of 
you.  What  kind  of  a  spaniel  is  he  ?  " 

"  He'll  be  a  sort  of  golden-brown,  with  curly  hair 
and  a  pointed  little  face,"  the  Squire  told  her.  "  He 
ought  to  be  here  in  a  few  days  now.  I'm  —  glad 
you're  going  to  like  it." 

As  far  as  liking  it  went,  the  thought  of  the  prospec 
tive  spaniel  with  the  golden-brown  curls  and  little 
pointed  nose  was  all  that  kept  Rosamond  cheerful 
when  the  mongrel  returned,  which  he  did,  along  with 
Martha,  early  in  the  afternoon.  Mr.  Sherwin  had 
washed  him  duly,  and  he  was  three  shades  lighter. 


THE  RED  BRICK  ELEPHANT        109 

His  sage-green  ribbon  gave  him  a  somewhat  more 
owned  look.  Allie  welcomed  him  with  rapture. 
Presently  she  sidled  up  to  Rosamond  and  cuddled  into 
her  arm. 

"  Auntie,  I  never  knew  there  was  so  much  nice- 
ness  in  the  world,  really,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  it 
was  all  in  the  story-books." 

"  It's  right  here,  in  the  world,  darling !  "  said  Ros 
amond,  kissing  her  uplifted  little  face.  If  the  Livon- 
ian  bloodhound  grew  as  much  prettier  as  Allie,  she 
thought,  after  his  adoption,  he  might  become  quite 
a  noble  beast  in  time.  Allie  was  becoming  a  distinctly 
pretty  little  girl,  and  her  manners,  which  had  been 
a  rather  trying  mixture  of  precocious  hardness  and 
cowedness,  were  almost  like  the  kind  of  a  child  Rosa 
mond  wanted  her  to  be.  She  was  too  enraptured  with 
her  dog,  which  was  doubtless  the  first  thing  she  had 
ever  owned,  to  even  ask  to  go  to  the  hotel  with  Martha 
and  Rosamond.  So  they  left  her  sitting  on  the  porch 
step  with  the  big  yellow  head  in  her  lap,  talking  baby- 
talk  to  her  possession,  and  drove  to  the  shore. 

They  found  Mr.  Jerrold  pacing  the  porch  of  his 
red-brick  elephant,  undisguisedly  watching  the  hori 
zon  for  Rosamond. 

"  This  is  Martha,"  Rosamond  explained  to  him. 
"  Mr.  Squire  has  loaned  her  to  me  for  the  day,  to 
help  you.  You  see  he  is  good,"  she  added  in  a  lower 
tone.  Anybody  that  consoled  you  with  prospective 
golden-brown  spaniels  was,  she  felt.  After  all,  you 


110  WHY  NOT? 

couldn't  blame  Mr.  Squire  for  declining  to  finance  the 
turbine  thing.  "  Martha  knows  everything  there  is 
to  know  about  housekeeping,"  she  concluded. 

Now  Martha's  manners  were  generally  of  a  benevo 
lent  and  grand-motherly  deference,  but  for  some 
reason  she  was  not  more  than  coldly  respectful  to 
Mr.  Jerrold. 

"  I'll  do  my  best,  sir,"  she  promised  icily.  "  Have 
you  an  inventory  of  linen  and  silver  and  such?  " 

Jerrold  began  to  pat  himself  all  over  experimen 
tally. 

"  I  locked  it  up  in  the  safe,  I  think,"  he  inferred 
finally.  "  The  silver  is,  anyway.  Yes,  and  I  locked 
the  inventory  in  with  it  —  and,  by  Jove,  the  piece  of 
paper  the  combination's  on  is  there  too ! " 

Rosamond  sat  down  on  the  counter  and  began  to 
laugh.  Not  so  Martha. 

"  You'd  best  try  to  remember  it,  sir,"  she  said  with 
unmistakable  severity.  Rosamond  could  not  imagine 
why  Martha  didn't  take  to  this  most  charming  young 
man,  who  smiled  sunnily  at  her,  and  sat  down  to  be 
siege  the  safe  on  the  spot. 

"  It  was  a  seven-letter  word,"  he  explained  to  Rosa 
mond  over  his  shoulder.  "  And  it  seems  to  me  it  had 
something  to  do  with  your  name." 

"  My  last  name,  then,"  said  Rosamond  carelessly, 
"  my  others  don't  fit." 

But  "Gilbert"  would  not   open  the   safe.     And 


THE  RED  BRICK  ELEPHANT         111 

neither  would  "  Rosamond,"  no  matter  what  letter 
they  left  out. 

"  You're  sure  it  wasn't  set  to  '  engine,'  or  *  inven 
tion,'  or  something  like  that?  "  she  asked. 

Jerrold  shook  his  head,  and  frowned  as  he  tried  to 
remember.  "  No,"  he  insisted,  "  it  had  something  to 
do  with  you." 

Rosamond  felt  interested  to  know  what,  but  he 
seemed  unable  to  remember  for  some  little  time.  At 
length  a  great  light  appeared  to  dawn  on  him.  And 
simultaneously  he  turned  a  deep,  even  pink  and  as 
saulted  the  knob  again.  This  time  it  opened  easily. 
But  he  had  whirled  it  so  fast  that  Rosamond  could 
not  see  the  letters  he  had  set  it  to  at  all.  So  before 
he  could  stop  her  she  bent  down  and  pulled  out  the 
envelope  marked  Inventory,  and  opened  it.  She 
handed  the  inventory  itself,  an  imposing  packet  of 
paper,  to  Martha,  who  immediately  began  to  trot 
about  the  room  comparing  it  with  the  furniture.  But 
the  slip  on  which  the  letters  of  the  combination  were 
written  Rosamond  stole  for  future  reference.  She 
did  not  read  it  then,  only  tucked  it  inside  her  blouse, 
and  looked  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

"  Everything  on  this  floor  is  all  right,"  Martha  an 
nounced  presently  to  Jerrold,  who  had  been  trailing 
behind  her  trying  to  look  intelligent  and  helpful. 
"We'd  better  take  the  next  floor  next,  sir.  The 
kitchen  last." 


112  WHY  NOT? 

Jerrold  sat  down  on  a  safely  inventoried  piano 
stool,  and  sighed.  Then  he  brightened. 

"  All  right,"  he  said.  "  I  have  the  utmost  confi 
dence  in  you,  Martha.  You  go  ahead  inventorying, 
and  when  you  get  through  come  tell  me.  I'd  trust 
you  with  my  life.  Miss  Gilbert  and  I  will  be  out  on 
the  porch.  I  think  there  are  chairs  there,  uninvento- 
ried,  but  still  possible  to  sit  in.  We  have  business  to 
talk  over." 

Martha  did  not  say  "  I  don't  like  your  methods. 
You  are  a  very  foolish,  unbusinesslike  young  man," 
because  her  excellent  manners  forbade.  Her  back  as 
she  went  up  the  staircase  (the  elevator  naturally  be 
ing  out  of  service)  said  it  all  with  brutal  frankness. 
But  Jerrold  and  Rosamond  were  laughing  at  them 
selves  one  each  side  of  a  little  table  on  the  porch,  and 
never  saw  that  outraged  back  at  all. 

"  Now  we  must  start  in  and  be  very  businesslike," 
said  Rosamond  gaily.  "  I  don't  in  the  least  know 
why  we're  laughing,  you  know !  " 

"  Oh,  because  we're  young,  and  it's  spring,  and  the 
sun's  shining,  and  the  wind's  blowing  in  from  sea ! " 
Jerrold  answered  blithely,  throwing  back  his  fair 
curly  head.  And  being  quite  fresh  from  college,  he 
began  to  quote  the  Shropshire  Lad: 

"  Ah,  Spring  was  sent  for  lass  and  lad, 

'Tis  now  the  blood  runs  gold, 
And  man  and  maid  had  best  be  glad 

Before  the  year  is  old." 


THE  RED  BRICK  ELEPHANT        113 

"  It's  a  good  idea  to  be  glad,"  Rosamond  agreed, 
"  though  somehow  I  generally  am,  anyway.  But 
speaking  for  ourselves,  I'm  afraid  man  and  maid  had 
best  get  out  the  prospectuses  —  that's  their  name, 
or  is  it  prospectii  ?  —  and  plan  beautiful,  novel  ad 
vertisements  that  will  make  the  wily  Following  run 
gold  —  in  large  quantities.  Oh,  but  it  is  the  Spring 
iest  afternoon ! " 

She  leaned  back  in  her  dusty  rocker  and  took  a 
long  breath  of  the  thrilling,  salty  spring  air. 

Jerrold's  face  had  its  inventor  look  as  he  chewed 
his  pencil.  "  How  do  you  find  Following-elect  to 
send  the  prospectuses  to  ?  "  he  demanded,  evidently 
quite  brought  down  to  earth  by  her  suggestion. 

Rosamond  shook  her  head  and  laughed. 

"Why,  I  don't  know!"  she  said.  "But  I'll  ask 
Mr.  Squire." 

"  Useful,  after  all,  isn't  he  ?  "  commented  Jerrold, 
and  Rosamond  felt  a  little  thrill  of  irrational  resent 
ment.  «  Very  well,  that's  settled." 

"  And  you  must  advertise,  and  bribe  hackmen  that 
meet  trains  to  steal  every  one  they  can  for  you.  L 
remember  a  hackman  met  Uncle  Alvin  and  me  once  at 
a  station,  and  took  us  to  quite  a  different  hotel  from 
the  one  we'd  planned  to  go  to,  because  he  got  fifty 
cents  from  the  management  for  everybody  he  sold 
into  slavery  that  way.  The  management  was  awfully 
hurt  when  we  wouldn't  stay.  .  .  .  You  ought  to  do 
that." 


114  WHY  NOT? 

Jerrold  burst  out  laughing  again. 

"  I  will,"  he  promised.  "  I'll  secretly  approach  all 
the  hackmen,  and  have  every  last  one  corrupted  be 
fore  to-morrow  night." 

"  But  you  must  be  kind  to  your  guests  after  you 
have  them,"  Rosamond  reminded  him  dubiously. 
"  That's  what  makes  them  into  attached  following  — j 
kind  treatment." 

"  I'll  remember,"  said  he,  and  wrote  down,  "  Treat 
guests  with  greatest  kindness,  when  kidnapped." 
Then  he  looked  up  and  laughed.  *'  I  say,  hotelkeep- 
ing's  going  to  be  fun!  Only — "  his  brow  con 
tracted  — "  do  I  get  many  hours  a  day  for  my  regular 
work?  Doesn't  look  as  if  I  could  spend  more  than 
two  or  three  hours  in  my  workshop." 

Rosamond  gave  an  inward  gasp,  but  all  she  said 
aloud  was  "  Wait  and  see.  Your  hotel  will  have  to 
come  first,  I'm  afraid."  Which  was  letting  him  down 
easy. 

They  both  nibbled  their  pencils  silently  for  awhile 
after  this.  Then  Rosamond  was  struck  with  another 
wonderful  idea. 

"  Why  don't  you  have  professional  escorts  ?  "  she 
suggested  radiantly.  "  They  do  in  the  city.  I  read 
about  it  in  a  Sunday  paper.  If  you  are  old  and  fat 
and  ugly,  but  rich,  you  hire  a  nice  young  man  to  take 
you  round  to  all  the  tango  teas  and  be  attentive  to 
you,  at  so  much  an- hour.  Very  much,  I  imagine. 
Now,  the  trouble  with  summer  places  is  there  are 


THE  RED  BRICK  ELEPHANT         115 

never  enough  men  to  have  nice  times  with,  without 
feeling  piggy  because  some  other  girl  is  going  without. 
What  you  want  to  do  is  to  pick  out  about  five  of  the 
nicest,  best-looking,  most  social-instincted  classmates 
you  had,  who  haven't  money  enough  to  spend  the 
summer  idly.  Give  them  their  board  free,  with  the 
understanding  that  they're  to  be  agreeable  to  the 
wallfloweriest  girls.  If  they're  industrious  and  will 
ing  they  can  keep  a  lot  of  girls  going;  three  apiece 
anyway." 

Rosamond  stopped,  beaming. 

"  I  never  heard  of  doing  anything  like  that !  "  said 
Jerrold  doubtfully.  "Would  it  be  all  right?" 

"  Never  having  heard  of  things  is  a  most  interest 
ing  reason  for  doing  them,  /  think,"  said  Rosamond. 
"Why  shouldn't  you?  It's  a  perfectly  lovely  idea, 
if  I  did  invent  it.  And  think  how  happy  you'll  make 
all  the  men,  and  how  contented  the  girls  will  bel 
Wait  a  minute.  We'll  feature  that  in  an  advertise 
ment." 

She  continued  to  nibble  the  banana-tasting  paint 
on  her  pencil,  and  presently  started  writing  with  it. 

"  The  Mammoth :  the  Young  People's  Hotel !  "  she 
wrote  dashingly.  "  We  are  noted  for  our  cuisine,  and 
our  homelike  air  of  gaiety  and  comfort.  The  young 
men  who  frequent  our  hotel  are  unexceptionable  in 
character.  Prices  below  normal." 

"  Now,  wouldn't  that  lure  you,"  she  demanded, 
"whether  you  were  old  or  young  or  middle-aged? 


116  WHY  NOT? 

The  cuisine  —  that's  advertisementese  for  cooking  — 
for  the  middle  bears.  The  comfort  for  the  old  people : 
we'll  have  to  fix  them  a  special  rocking-chairy  sort  of 
place.  The  gaiety,  and  the  fact  that  other  young 
people  are  there,  for  young  people." 

"  But  —  prices  below  normal  ?  "  inquired  Jerrold 
doubtfully. 

"  There  isn't  anybody  but  a  millionaire  who  won't 
like  that,"  said  Rosamond,  "  and  I  understand  mil 
lionaires  always  go  to  hotels  where  other  millionaires 
are,  anyway,  so  they  won't  be  conspicuous.  I  sup 
pose  they're  shy.  And  as  you  only  have  six  suites- 
with-bath,  I  suppose  the  rest  of  your  Following  will 
be  just  plain  American  citizens.  And  anyway  the 
prices  needn't  be  much  below  normal.  At  least,  you 
might  choose  your  normal." 

66 1  will,"  said  Richard  Jerrold  gratefully.  "I 
say,  Miss  Gilbert,  you  certainly  are  a  wonder.  You 
remember,  you  get  a  percentage  on  every  bit  of  this, 
whether  you  want  it  or  not." 

"  Well,  if  much  money's  left  over,"  yielded  Rosa 
mond.  It  was  pleasant  to  think  that  she  was  going 
to  be  so  beautifully  self-supporting,  in  the  face  of 
everything  Cousin  Jenny  had  said  and  Mr.  Squire 
hadn't  said.  "  Because  you  don't  need  to  make  any 
money  on  the  Mammoth,  remember ;  all  you  want  is 
to  clear  expenses  and  make  the  Following  happy  and 
attached,  so  your  prospective  purchaser  will  be  satis 
fied.  I  can  just  see  him,"  she  mused,  putting  her 


THE  RED  BRICK  ELEPHANT        117 

pencil  back  in  her  mouth,  and  tilting  her  chair  against 
a  convenient  wall.  "  He'll  come  up  on  the  porch  and 
say  gruffly,  like  the  ogres  in  the  fairy-stories,  '  Well, 
have  you  complied  with  my  conditions?  The  time 
is  up.  If  so,  I'll  buy.'  And  he  will  shake  a  bag  of 
gold  mockingly,  thinking  you  haven't.  And  you'll 
look  at  him  with  scorn,  and  whistle.  6  Here,  Follow 
ing  ! '  you'll  say.  And  the  Following  will  dash  out 
from  the  house,  hundreds  strong,  clustering  round 
you  with  grateful  and  attached  looks.  And  you  will 
say  proudly  to  him,  like  Mrs.  Gracchi,  '  Here  is  my 
Following !  Following,  go  with  the  nice  gentleman !  * 
And  it  will  do  so,  sadly.  And  you'll  take  the  bag  of 
gold  and  go  off  to  push  your  rotary  engine.  ...  I 
declare,  it  will  be  very  hard  on  the  poor  Following, 
after  they've  gotten  attached  to  you !  " 

"  Bother  the  Following's  feelings ! "  said  Richard 
Jerrold,  with  the  remorseless  light  of  the  inventor  in 
his  eye.  "  By  Jove !  Think  of  putting  that  engine 
on  its  feet !  " 

"  Its  wheels,"  corrected  Rosamond  whimsically 
under  her  breath ;  but  he  did  not  hear  her.  He  was 
looking  raptly  into  the  sea-distance. 

"  He's  thinking  of  that  old  engine  again,"  thought 
Rosamond  petulantly.  "  I  suppose  I  never  can  ex 
pect  to  be  a  rival  to  that  awful  animal !  " 

But  he  was  not.  He  turned  to  her  abruptly,  and 
leaned  across  the  table  between  them. 

"  Do  you  know  how  I  feel  ?  "  he  asked  energetically. 


118  WHY  NOT? 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  the  Prince  in  the  fairy-tale,  who 
had  been  set  impossible  tasks,  and  had  come  across 
the  Ogre's  beautiful  daughter,  in  her  enchanted  hut. 
Don't  you  remember?  He  has  to  cover  the  barn  with 
bird-feathers,  and  get  a  magic  egg  from  the  top  of  a 
highly-polished,  three-mile  pine  tree,  and  do  a  lot 
of  other  crazy  stunts  or  be  eaten.  And  she  shows 
him  how.  Oh,  Princess,  when  you  help  me  accomplish 
my  tasks.  .  .  ." 

He  broke  off.  Rosamond's  cheeks  flushed  pink, 
and  her  eyes  brightened.  The  Prince  in  the  fairy 
tale  ...  he  was  very  near  it,  anyway. 

"  I'm  glad  if  I'm  helping  you,"  she  said  demurely. 
"  But  who  is  the  Ogre?  " 

Richard  Jerrold  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Oh,  everything,"  he  said.  "  Old  Squire,  and 
Aunt  Genevieve's  will,  and  the  trouble  about  the  in 
vention.  But  it  all  seems  light-hearted,  somehow,  and 
a  lark,  with  you  back  of  it." 

"  It  is ! "  said  Rosamond  gaily.  "  The  whole 
world  is.  Why  shouldn't  it  be?  But  —  but  Mr. 
Squire  — "  She  was  going  to  finish,  "  Mr.  Squire 
isn't  old,"  when  Martha's  respectful  voice  broke  in 
on  them.  They  had  both  quite  forgotten  her. 

"  I've  taken  the  inventory,  Miss  Gilbert,"  she  ad 
dressed  herself  carefully  to  Rosamond.  "  There's 
about  two  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  linen  and  crock 
ery  needed,  and  one  or  two  new  beds,  and  some  re- 


THE  RED  BRICK  ELEPHANT        119 

papering.  And  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Jerrold,  but 
Mr.  Squire  is  not  old." 

She  stood  severely  in  the  doorway,  as  if  they  were 
naughty  children,  and  for  a  moment  even  Rosamond 
forgot  to  feel  that  it  was  a  lark. 

"  Oh,  I'm  sorry,  Martha,"  Jerrold  answered  with 
careless  good-nature.  "  But  —  two  hundred  dollars, 
plus  papering?  Good  gracious,  where'll  I  get  it? 
Can  you  tell  me,  Princess  ?  " 

Rosamond  shook  her  head.  She  had  no  idea  where 
such  sums  grew. 

"  If  I  might  suggest,  sir,"  offered  Martha,  dis 
approving,  but  still  intent  on  helping  her  utmost  as 
her  duty  was,  "  if  your  property  is  clear  the  local 
bank  will  give  you  a  note  for  enough  to  start  run 
ning." 

"  What  a  lot  you  know !  "  said  Rosamond,  looking 
at  Martha  with  respect.  But  Martha  was  not  soft 
ened. 

"  It'll  be  time  soon  that  I  was  getting  home,  Miss 
Rosamond,"  she  observed  for  all  answer,  as  she  handed 
the  inventory  and  a  neat  list  of  necessaries  to  Jerrold. 

"  We're  through  for  the  day,  too,  I  think,"  said 
Rosamond.  "  Can  you  come  up  to-morrow  evening 
to  straighten  out  the  details,  Mr.  Jerrold?  I  believe 
in  realising  dreams  thoroughly  while  you're  at  it." 

"  I'll  be  there  at  eight,"  he  responded :  and  Rosa 
mond  mounted  the  "  little  cart,"  whose  patient  pony 


120  WHY  NOT? 

had  been  standing  for  the  last  three  hours  with  his 
reins  dropped  round  the  hitching-post.  Martha  re 
leased  him  and  climbed  in  after  her. 

"  Queer,  Martha  and  I  both  flew  up  when  he  said 
Mr.  Squire  was  old,"  she  thought,  as  they  drove  past 
the  long  rows  of  closed  houses,  in  the  fresh  evening 
wind.  "  There  must  be  youngness  concealed  about 
him  somewhere.  Martha ! "  she  turned  abruptly  to 
the  neat  old  figure  beside  her,  "  is  Mr.  Squire  very 
old?  " 


CHAPTER  NINE 

THE   DREAM   OF   SYDNEY   BEOWNE 

ROSAMOND  had  touched  the  right  spring  to 
make  Martha  forget  her  obvious  disapproval  of 
what  she  had  been  asked  to  do. 

"  Certainly  not,"  she  answered.  "  Not  in  the 
least,  Miss  Rosamond." 

"  Then  why  does  he  live  out  here  in  the  country 
and  not  have  good  times?  If  I  had  everything  he 
has,"  said  Rosamond  enthusiastically,  "  I  could 
have  good  times  with  it  that  would  take  in  everybody 
for  miles  around.  I'd  be  a  sort  of  human  Christmas 
tree.  And  he  lives  here  —  well,  it's  a  lovely  place 
to  live  —  but  somehow,  he  doesn't  seem  to  do  any 
thing  with  living.  He  just  stays,  as  if  he  were  visit 
ing  at  life." 

But  she  was  a  little  beyond  Martha's  depth. 

"  Mr.  Squire  is  a  very  good  man,"  said  she  severely. 
"  There  isn't  many  sons  would  have  been  as  good  as 
he's  been." 

"  I  thought  his  mother  was  dead,"  said  Rosamond. 

"  She,  bein'  dead,  yet  speaketh,"  quoted  Martha 
solemnly.  "  You  see,  Miss  Rosamond,  Master  John 
nie's  —  Mr.  Squire's  —  father  died  when  Mr.  Squire 

121 


1S2  WHY  NOT? 

was  at  the  age  of  nine.  And  Mrs.  Squire  used  to  cry 
most  of  the  time.  And  Master  Johnnie  used  to  put 
his  little  arms  round  her  and  say,  *  Never  mind, 
mother,  and  I'll  never,  never  go  away  from  home  and 
leave  you  till  you  want  me  to.'  He  had  the  lovingest 
little  heart,  dear  child!  So  Mrs.  Squire,  she  kept 
him  to  his  promise.  He  never  did  live  anywhere  but 
here,  which  she  picked  out  then  because  it  was  se 
cluded  and  suitable  to  grief.  There  wasn't  any  sum 
mer  resort  near,  then.  He  never  left  her,  not  for 
one  day,  till  she  died.  All  his  tutors  and  such  came 
here  for  him." 

66  But  she's  dead  now,"  suggested  Rosamond  tenta 
tively. 

"  Folks  gets  in  a  rut,"  said  Martha.  Every  once 
in  a  while  Rosamond  found  with  a  shock  of  surprise 
that  Martha  knew  a  great  deal  about  human  nature. 
It  seemed  inappropriate  to  her  being  old.  "  I  was 
hopin',  Miss  Rosamond,  that  you  could  see  your  way 
to  shaking  him  out  of  it  a  little,  but  of  course  you 
being  taken  up  with  earning  your  living,  opening 
hotels  and  all — " 

Rosamond  laughed. 

"  Good  gracious,  Martha,"  she  said,  "  when  I  look 
back  on  my  black  past  here  at  Wanalasset,  it  seems 
to  me  as  if  everything  I'd  done  had  been  with  a  refer 
ence  to  shaking  him !  There  hasn't  a  day  passed  that 
I  haven't  shocked  him  at  something  I've  done." 

"  That  wasn't  exactly  what  I  meant,  but  it's  near 
enough,"  said  Martha. 


THE  DREAM  OF  SYDNEY  BROWNE 

"  Evidently,"  thought  Rosamond,  u  she  wants  me 
to  shock  him  so  much  he'll  leave  for  parts  unknown." 

But  she  didn't  feel  that  she  wanted  to.  The  big 
house  up  the  road  —  well,  it  might  be  selfish,  and  it 
probably  was,  but  Rosamond  felt  that  she  needed  it 
and  its  master  exactly  where  they  were.  She  felt 
chaperoned  by  them. 

Suddenly  across  her  mind  came  a  vivid  picture  of 
the  dear  little  boy  the  Squire  must  have  been.  She 
could  see  him,  with  his  big,  black-lashed  grey  eyes  and 
his  black  hair  and  his  pink  cheeks,  with  his  sturdy 
affectionate  little  arms  round  his  mother,  trying  to 
comfort  her  like  a  little  man !  And  then  to  have  that 
mother  mean  enough  to  hold  him  to  his  promises  so 
hard  that  when  she  died  and  he  could  get  away  the 
spring  was  broken  and  he  didn't  want  to !  He  was 
just  the  kind  of  a  man  you  could  do  anything  with 
if  you  appealed  to  his  sense  of  right  and  wrong,  or 
his  honour  and  justice,  or  any  of  those  feelings  he 
had  such  a  lot  too  much  of.  Rosamond  felt  her  eyes 
filling  with  tears  over  that  long-gone  little  boy,  and 
the  unfair  deal  he'd  had.  She  made  a  remorseful 
vow  never  to  make  him  do  anything  he  didn't  want  to 
again :  and  was  pulled  up  by  the  recoUection  that  she'd 
never  succeeded  in  that  yet,  whereas  the  Squire  had 
made  her  do  two  or  three  things  she  didn't  want  to 
do  at  all,  such  as  keeping  Martha  over  night.  And 
he  probably  enjoyed  being  coaxed  just  as  much  as  if 
his  mother  hadn't  wished  imprisonment  for  life  on, 


WHY  NOT? 

him.  .  .  .  Anyway,  he  could  go  anywhere  now  that 
he  wanted  to,  and  if  he  chose  to  stay  here  and  ex 
ercise  rights  of  guardianship  over  young  seekers  after 
happiness,  it  wasn't  Rosamond's  fault.  He  was  the 
one  person  she  knew  who  seemed  to  have  absolutely 
everything  he  wanted.  Except  that  he  seemed  to  have 
fallen  into  a  confirmed  habit  of  being  too  noble  for 
his  own  comfort.  Rosamond  remembered  vaguely  to 
have  heard  that  it  was  wrong  to  be  too  unselfish.  It 
prevented  other  people  from  exercising  their  virtues. 
And  here  Rosamond's  natural  desire  to  help  other 
people  to  be  as  light-hearted  as  she  was  came  into 
play.  It  was  plainly  her  duty  to  train  the  Squire 
out  of  his  mistaken  attitude  of  mind  —  but  not  out 
of  his  stay-at-home  habits. 

"  Thank  you  for  telling  me,"  she  said  to  Martha, 
who  had  talked  on  steadily  all  the  time  Rosamond 
had  been  thinking.  "  And  you  won't  forget  to  write 
to  your  sister  to-night  about  being  housekeeper  for 
Mr.  Jerrold?  Thank  you.  Good-night,  Martha. 
Thank  Mr.  Squire,  too." 

For  the  "  little  cart  "  had  brought  her  as  far  as  it 
could  towards  her  bungalow.  She  jumped  out  and 
ran  lightly  up  the  path,  singing  as  she  went.  She 
had  certainly  put  in  a  good  day's  work  for  Jerrold! 

Allie  and  the  dog,  who  had  been  waiting  for  her  on 
the  step,  ran  out  to  greet  her.  As  she  saw  Allie's 
curls  tossing  in  the  sunlight,  and  her  pretty,  flushed 
little  face  lighting  up  with  happiness  at  seeing  her 


THE  DREAM  OF  SYDNEY  BROWNE   125 

beloved  "  auntie  "  again,  she  felt  that  whatever  might 
or  might  not  happen,  one  thing  she  had  done  was 
right. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you're  back,  and  so  is  Doggie ! " 
said  Allie  eagerly.  "  Your  family's  missed  you 
dreadful,  Auntie ! " 

The  amateur  bloodhound,  who  really  had  a  certain 
dignity  now  that  he'd  been  petted  enough  to  feel 
welcome,  gave  a  timid  jump  that  he  hadn't  quite 
courage  to  complete,  but  which  showed  that  he,  too, 
was  glad  to  see  her  back. 

"  I  certainly  have  an  awfully  nice  family,"  said 
Rosamond,  kissing  the  little  eager  face  held  up  to 
hers,  and  trying  to  pat  the  dog  at  the  same  time. 
She  went  in  with  one  hand  in  Allie's  and  the  other  on 
the  dog's  new  ribbon.  Both  of  them  crowded  up 
close  to  her  as  they  passed  the  doorway. 

It  was  so  nice  to  be  loved  that  way,  uncritically! 
Uncle  Alvin  had  loved  her,  Rosamond  supposed.  But 
he  had  never  thought  to  mention  it.  And  Cousin 
Jenny's  affection,  though  it  was  more  real  than  Ros 
amond  had  any  notion  of,  was  something  she  could 
only  offer  furtively,  so  to  speak,  when  Cousin  George 
wasn't  around.  Cousin  George's  attitude  to  his  wife 
was  that  any  affection  or  presents  given  to  outsiders 
was  just  so  much  of  his  rightful  due  taken  from  him. 
So  to  Rosamond's  warm  and  very  demonstrative 
nature,  a  small  girl  who  beamed  gratefully  when  you 
hugged  her,  and  a  yellow  dog,  be  he  ever  so  mongrel, 


136  WHY  NOT? 

who  was  delighted  at  being  allowed  to  receive  affec 
tion,  were  very  wonderful  things.  Only  it  all  made 
Rosamond  feel  humble,  somehow.  You  have  to  be 
used  to  adoring  love  to  take  it  as  your  right. 

So  Rosamond  and  her  family  went  in  to  supper, 
and  made  plans  over  it  for  borrowing  Jerrold's  white 
canoe,  till  they  could  buy  one. 

"  But  can  we  afford  it  ?  "  demanded  Allie  anxiously. 

Rosamond  stopped  a  minute  to  think. 

66  Yes,"  she  decided.  "  You  see,  dear,  you  paid 
less  for  the  bloodhound  than  we  expected  to.  So  I 
think  we'll  devote  the  money  he  would  have  cost  to 
getting  a  canoe.  Only  please  pay  the  next  bill  I  tell 
you  to,  honey.  It's  wrong  not  to  pay  what  you  owe." 

Allie  nodded,  as  one  absorbing  a  new,  but  actual 
fact. 

"  Martha  says  that,  too,"  she  said.  "  Martha 
knows  lots  about  the  behaviour  of  a  perfect  lady, 
doesn't  she?  I  wonder  if  she  wrote  that  St.  Nic'las 
story?  She  could  of." 

"  Poor  little  boy !  "  murmured  Rosamond  absently. 
"  With  Martha's  eternal  admonitions  and  his  mother's 
emotions !  No  wonder.  .  .  ." 

"  What  little  boy?  "  demanded  Allie.  "  Can  I  play 
with  him?" 

"  No  little  boy  you  ever  heard  of,"  said  Rosamond. 
There  was  no  use  explaining  everything  to  Allie  — 
even  if  you  could. 

That  night,  as  Rosamond  undressed  in  her  pretty 


THE  DREAM  OF  SYDNEY  BROWNE      127 

green  bedroom,  a  slip  of  paper  fell  to  the  floor.  It 
was  the  safe  combination  which  her  curiosity  had  led 
her  to  steal.  She  stooped  and  picked  it  up  —  and 
gasped.  "  Dear  me,  he  must  be  very  foolish ! "  she 
said  dismay edly.  For  the  word  was  not  her  first 
name  nor  yet  her  last,  nor  even  the  suppressed 
"  Anne  "  that  she  had  left  behind  as  Cousin  Jenny's. 
"  DEAREST,"  the  paper  said  in  neat  print.  Then 
she  remembered  that  that  wasn't  the  way  to  feel  about 
it.  For  if  ever  there  was  a  wish-come-true  of  a 
Knightly  Lover,  Richard  Jerrold,  with  his  Quest  and 
his  tossing  fair  hair  and  his  light  heart,  was  it  all 
over.  When  a  thing  you  have  wished  for  is  coming 
to  you,  you  should  feel  properly  about  it.  ... 

She  crossed  to  the  window  and  looked  out,  over 
the  moon-silvered  lake-water.  There  she  had  seen 
him  first,  like  a  picture  out  of  a  book  of  legends,  all 
white  and  silvered,  and  graceful  in  the  moonlight. 

"My  Knightly  Lover,"  she  mused.  .  .  .  She 
wished  it  hadn't  started  in  to  happen  quite  so  soon. 
There  was  so  much  else  to  do.  Well,  maybe  he  didn't 
really  mean  it.  But  there  was  no  use  blinking  it ;  he 
was  evidently  the  thing  she  had  expected  —  and  was 
going  to  get.  "  If  you  want  a  thing  .  .  ."  said 
Rosamond.  It  would  be  lovely,  anyway,  when  the 
real  love-making  started  in.  If  he  only  made  as  good 
a  lover  as  he  looked !  "  Probably  I'll  dream  of  him," 
she  said,  and  smiled.  Then  she  left  the  window  and 
slipped  into  bed. 


128  WHY  NOT? 

"  Sorry  .  .  ."  she  murmured  sleepily  as  she  closed 
her  tired  eyes,  "  poor  little  boy.  .  .  .  Never  .  .  . 
mind.  .  .  ." 

"  The  tent's  come,  Auntie !  "  she  heard  Allie  calling 
gleefully  outside  her  door  at  what  seemed  an  un 
earthly  hour  next  morning. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Rosamond  sleepily,  opening  her 
eyes  enough  to  see  that  it  was  the  best  spring  morn 
ing  that  ever  was. 

"  It's  a  lovely  tent ! "  said  Allie,  running  in. 
*'  Please  button  me,  Auntie.  It's  got  green  stripes 
all  up  and  down  it.  Can  I  play  house  in  it  when  you 
don't  want  it?" 

Rosamond  sat  up  and  pushed  the  hair  out  of  her 
eyes,  and  wakened  herself  fully  by  beginning  to  button 
Allie's  frock. 

"  You'd  destroy  the  air  of  mystery  and  gloom  that 
should  hang  about  it,"  she  said  cheerfully.  "  You 
don't  want  to  do  that,  you  know." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  break  things,"  said  Allie  hazily. 
"  It's  on  the  porch,  all  rolled  up,  with  the  man  sitting 
on  it,  and  he  says  hurry,  'cause  he  has  to  go  some 
where  else." 

It  was  indeed  a  most  sumptuous  tent,  quite  water 
proof,  and  capable  of  holding  two  people  and  a  table 
with  very  little  crowding.  They  ate  very  little  reg 
ular  breakfast  that  morning,  Allie  and  Rosamond, 
because  they  both  preferred  to  walk  around  the  tent 


THE  DREAM  OF  SYDNEY  BROWNE      129 

where  it  lay  prostrate  on  the  porch,  and  plan  things 
for  it.  A  list  of  directions  for  putting  it  up  came 
with  it,  not  counting  the  ones  the  man  gave  them  be 
fore  he  left.  As  Rosamond  was  strong  and  Allie  deft- 
handed,  they  managed,  after  a  good  deal  of  strug 
gling,  to  get  it  up  very  creditably  by  pinning  the  di 
rections  to  a  tree,  where  they  could  be  referred  to 
without  letting  go  the  pole  and  the  ropes.  They 
planted  it  at  the  very  edge  of  Rosamond's  ground, 
close  enough  to  the  right-of-way  footpath,  where  the 
summer  people  would  soon,  she  hoped,  be  wandering 
along,  singing  "  Along  Came  Ruth,"  or  something 
newer.  The  tent  could  be  seen  from  the  water  by 
canoeists,  too.  It  was  altogether  a  most  eligible 
situation  for  an  industrious-minded  young  fortune 
teller  to  choose. 

Rosamond  went  inside  her  tent  and  sat  there,  as  if 
she  had  been  a  small  child  playing  house.  Indeed, 
it  felt  like  that.  She  felt  as  if  she  owned  the  tent 
more  than  she  did  the  bungalow,  even. 

"  Every  bit  of  it  mine !  "  she  said.  "  And  oh,  what 
lovely  times  I'll  have  telling  fortunes  here,  and — > 
what  a  fit  Cousin  George  would  have  if  he  knew !  .  .  . 
And  Mr.  Squire." 

Rosamond  laughed  again  as  she  wondered  exactly 
how  he  would  phrase  his  objections  to  her  perform 
ance,  for  she  knew  in  her  heart  of  hearts  that  he  had 
never  half  believed  in  her  actual  purpose  of  fortune- 
telling.  "  And  when  he  sees  me  in  a  robe  of  more- 


130  WHY  NOT? 

than-Oriental-splendour,"  she  laughed  to  herself, 
leaning  back  against  the  tent-wall  and  putting  a  hand 
on  the  grass  at  each  side  of  her,  "  telling  people  that 
a  long  journey  is  ahead  of  them,  but  to  beware  of  a 
dark  man  —  oh,  what  will  he  say !  " 

Allie  had  played  about  on  the  grass  for  a  little 
while,  but  when  Rosamond  went  inside  her  tent  to  be 
happy  owning  it,  the  child  slipped  off  to  the  house. 
Rosamond  knew  she  would  spend  a  happy  morning 
there,  playing  gentle  little  solitary  games  by  herself ; 
games  wherein  she  took  long  journeys  and  met  un 
usually  wonderful  people  who  all  turned  out  to  be 
relatives. 

Meanwhile  the  prospective  fortune-teller  swung  a 
little  shelf  in  the  corner,  where  the  ivory  elephant  was 
to  live  in  the  daytime,  with  a  plush  Wiederseim  cat  to 
keep  him  from  too  much  loneliness  and  dignity. 
Grand-Uncle  Alvin's  Japanese  crystal,  too,  in  its 
holder,  was  set  beside  the  elephant.  With  a  red 
lantern  hung  from  the  ceiling,  and  two  chairs  and  a 
table  for  furniture,  the  tent  had  an  air  of  complete 
ness  and  professionalism  which  made  Rosamond  feel 
that  no  more  need  be  desired  of  life. 

"  The  elephant's  name  is  Ganesh,  I  suppose,"  she 
said.  "  At  least  that's  what  he  probably  is.  And 
I  know  the  cat  is  *  No-ma'am-I-ain't-seen-your- 
birdie.'  Oh,  what  a  lovely  tent,  if  it  is  mine !  And 
with  the  costume  of  more-than-Oriental-splendour, 
and  a  good  memory  for  what  the  cards  mean  — " 


THE  DREAM  OF  SYDNEY  BROWNE  131 

She  felt  too  pleased  to  keep  still.  She  flung  her 
arms  up  over  her  head,  and  came  out  of  the  tent, 
dancing  a  little  for  sheer  mischief  and  lightness  of 
heart. 

"Where  is  the  lit-tul  gr#/?-see's  home?"  she 
carolled. 

"  Under  the  spreading  green-wood  tre-e-e.  .  .  . 
That  end's  coming  undone !  " 

She  flung  herself  on  it,  still  singing,  and  tied  it. 
When  it  was  quite  tight  she  sat  up,  still  singing. 

It's  a  little  embarrassing  to  discover  that  even 
your  nearest  and  dearest  have  been  watching  you 
frisk,  and  it  was  an  entirely  strange  girl  whose  eyes 
Rosamond  found  fixed  on  her  as  she  lifted  herself 
upright.  She  laughed,  and  flushed  a  little  deeper. 

"  Won't  you  come  in  ?  "  she  said  politely.  "  It's 
my  new  tent.  I've  just  finished  putting  it  up.  Don't 
you  think  it's  lovely?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other  girl.  "  I'm  sorry  I  stared," 
she  added.  Her  voice  was  deep  and  abrupt.  She 
was  tall  and  thin  and  dark,  and  jerky  in  her  move 
ments  and  manner  as  well  as  in  her  way  of  speaking. 
She  suggested  a  sort  of  out-of-gearness  all  over. 
"  The  truth  is,"  she  finished,  still  abruptly,  "  I  was 
watching  you  be  happy." 

Rosamond  gave  a  little  gurgle  of  pleasure,  and 
settled  herself  more  comfortable  with  her  back  against 
the  tent. 

"  You  can  watch  that  nearly  any  time  you  see  me," 


132  WHY  NOT? 

she  said  frankly.  "  I  seem  to  have  an  incurably 
cheerful  disposition." 

The  other  girl  nodded  gravely. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  she  said,  as  if  she  were  ad 
mitting  that  China  was  supposed  to  be  a  pretty 
country  —  not  that  she  ever  expected  to  go  there. 
"  I'd  give  a  lot  of  money  to  know  how  you  do  it," 
she  added  impatiently,  as  if  the  words  were  forced 
out  of  her. 

She  could  not  have  been  prepared  for  Rosamond's 
swift,  half -mischievous  reply. 

"  Why,  as  for  that,  I'll  show  you  with  pleasure 
on  very  reasonable  terms !  "  Rosamond  answered ;  and 
sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  curtsy.  "  In  me,"  she 
went  on,  as  the  perplexity  deepened  in  her  visitor's 
eyes»  "you  see  a  professional  realiser  of  dreams. 
Terms  moderate,  because  I'm  just  starting  in.  My 
name  is  Gilbert,  Rosamond  Gilbert,"  she  added  more 
soberly,  "  and  perhaps  I  could  help  you  —  really." 

"  I'm  Sydney  Browne,"  said  the  other  girl.  "  But 
you  couldn't.  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  added,  "  by 
being  a  realiser  of  dreams?  Or  were  you  just  mak 
ing  fun  of  me  ?  " 

Her  dark,  tired-looking  face  had  a  look  half  of 
eagerness  and  half  of  distrust  as  she  asked  the 
question.  Rosamond's  own  face,  with  its  vivid  ex 
pression  of  joyous  certainty,  shadowed  a  little  in 
sympathy. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down  on  the  grass  ?  "  she  said 


THE  DREAM  OF  SYDNEY  BROWNE  138 

gently.  "  Indeed  I  wasn't  thinking  of  making  fun 
of  you.  I  meant  it." 

"  I'm  afraid  I'll  get  my  skirt  mussed,"  said  Sydney 
Browne  a  little  complainingly. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Rosamond  coolly.  "  I'm  per 
fectly  certain  you  don't  have  it  to  do  up  yourself. 
Do  you?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Sydney,  sitting  down  despondently. 
"  I  have  all  the  money  I  need.  More  than  I  know 
what  to  do  with." 

She  made  this  rather  uncalled-for  statement  with  a 
mixture  of  pride  and  gloom  which  gave  Rosamond 
the  impression  that  she  hated  having  money ;  and  was 
glad  she  had  something,  at  least. 

"  More  money  than  you  know  what  to  do  with ! " 
echoed  Rosamond,  dropping  beside  her  with  a  placid 
disregard  of  her  own  pink  gingham  ruffles.  "  I  don't 
see  how  anybody  could !  No  matter  how  much  I 
had,  I  know  what  I'd  do  with  every  bit  of  it.  First 
I'd  buy  a  swimming-pool  to  put  in  my  basement.  .  .  . 
But  this  isn't  business,"  she  interrupted  herself. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  to  say  you  can  get  people 
what  they  want?  "  demanded  Sydney  Browne,  sitting 
up  for  a  minute.  Then  she  slumped  —  there  is  no 
other  word  —  against  the  tent,  crushing  the  expen 
sively  laundered  linen  coat  and  skirt  she  had  been 
guarding  the  moment  before.  "  But  it's  no  use,"  she 
added.  "  You  couldn't  help  me.  Nobody  could  get 
me  what  I  want." 


134.  WHY  NOT? 

" What  is  it?"  asked  Rosamond  wooingly. 

Sydney  Browne  stared  sullenly  into  the  distance. 

"  I  want  to  be  a  man,"  said  she. 

Rosamond  cuddled  her  own  slim,  prettily  curved 
body  luxuriously  against  the  tent,  and  settled  a  ring 
let  more  suitably  against  a  pink  cheek. 

"What  on  earth  for?"  she  inquired.  *'You 
couldn't  have  any  pretty  clothes,  nor  any  back  hair, 
nor  —  well  —  nor  any  fun  with  men !  " 

"  Who  wants  pretty  clothes  or  back  hair?  "  re 
torted  Sydney  Browne.  "  And  I  never  have  any  fun 
with  men,  anyway !  " 

Rosamond  reflected  that  if  Miss  Browne's  attitude 
to  the  world  in  general  was  the  one  she  was  taking  to 
her  just  now,  she  probably  never  did  have  fun  with 
anybody ;  because  they  probably  fled  when  they  saw 
her  the  second  time.  Then  she  remembered  that  be 
cause  Sydney  was  being  cross  and  mournful  with  her 
was  no  sign  she  was  being  so  with  other  people.  Ros 
amond  was  told  more  intimate  things  by  every  one 
she  met  than  most  people.  Some  fatal  fascination  in 
her  drew  woes  out  of  people  whom  their  own  guard 
ian  angels  wouldn't  have  suspected  of  emotions  at 
all. 

She  looked  Sydney  over  again.  She  was  tall; 
taller  than  Rosamond  herself,  who  was  dangerously 
near  five  feet  eight.  She  had  a  dark  skin  and 
strongly  marked  features.  She  could  have  been  hand 
some  in  a  dashing,  huntress  sort  of  way,  but  there 


THE  DREAM  OF  SYDNEY  BROWNE   135 

was  no  dash  to  her;  merely  slump,  which  was  merely 
partly  atoned  for  by  a  pathetic  over-grooming  of 
rather  the  wrong  kind.  She  should  be  dressed,  and 
act,  along  entirely  different  lines,  Rosamond  decided. 

"  If  you  dressed  a  little  differently  you  could  be  a 
lot  handsomer,"  she  began. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  handsome,"  snapped  Sydney ; 
only,  if  you  could  say  so,  there  was  no  snap  to  her 
snap.  "  I  hate  being  a  girl.  I  wish  I  was  a  man, 
not  a  woman,  all  tied  up,  with  conventionalities  every 
way  I  turn." 

"  Won't  you  tell  me  about  it  ?  "  asked  Rosamond 
in  her  soft,  persuasive  voice.  Sydney  Browne  seemed 
to  her  all  wrong,  somehow;  all  thrown  out  of  gear. 
There  must  be  some  reason  why  the  wheels  weren't 
running  smoothly,  and  Rosamond  wanted  to  know 
what  it  was. 

"  Oh,  there's  not  much  to  tell,"  said  Sydney  wearily. 
"  I  had  a  good  time  with  Dad  till  I  nearly  grew  up. 
He  wanted  me  to  have  been  a  boy,  too.  I  could 
climb  any  tree  or  jump  any  hurdle  or  fish  any  stream 
—  well,  I  could  do  all  those  things  up  to  the  mark 
of  any  boy  my  age,"  said  Sydney  with  a  momentary 
gleam  of  pride.  "  I  suppose  I  could  now.  Then  he 
thought  I  was  getting  too  tomboyish,  or  somebody 
else  proceeded  to  think  so  for  him.  And  I  was  sent 
off  to  Miss  Miller's  school  to  be  finished.  They 
finished  me,  all  right!  I  was  about  as  happy  as  a 
mouse  in  a  cat-show.  But  they  kept  on  working  — 


136  WHY  NOT? 

they  had  hopeful  dispositions,  those  teachers  of  mine 
—  and  presently  they  worried  the  desire  for  woods 
and  fence-jumping  and  tree-climbing  Out  of  me:  and 
desire  for  nearly  everything  else  to  boot.  Now  I'm 
twenty-five,  and  unfortunately  it  was  Dad  that  died, 
instead  of  my  stepmother.  Why  do  the  wrong  people 
always  die?  And  I  don't  fit  into  being  a  woman  one 
bit.  I've  given  it  seven  years'  trial.  I  can't  get  on 
with  them.  They  bore  me.  Cats,  things  with  no 
sense  of  honour  and  no  reasoning  powers,  and  more 
shrewdness  than  they've  any  logical  right  to.  I  can't 
deal  with  'em." 

"  And  men  ? "  asked  Rosamond  without  further 
comment. 

"  Same  thing,"  said  Sydney.  "  I  want  to  talk 
man-things  to  them,  and  they  want  to  flirt.  I  have 
money." 

"  Ooo-oo !  "  said  Rosamond  under  her  breath.  She 
felt  exactly  as  she  had  once  when  Grand-Uncle  Alvin 
had  taken  her  to  a  lecture  which  was  entirely  made 
up  of  slides  showing  what  you  really  look  like  in 
side.  "  What  a  world  to  live  in !  "  She  sprang  up, 
and  looked  around  her  for  a  moment,  drawing  a  long 
breath.  Yes,  it  was  still  a  fresh,  sunshiny  spring 
day  of  the  finest  kind.  She  had  almost  expected 
appropriate  scenic  effects  along  with  Miss  Browne's 
mournful  story.  "  What  would  you  do  if  you  were 
a  man  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Take  a  tent  and  a  gun  and  go  out  back  of  beyond 


THE  DREAM  OF  SYDNEY  BROWNE  137 

somewhere  and  lose  myself  for  a  week,  to  start  with," 
said  Sydney  concisely,  waving  a  gaunt,  heavily  ringed 
hand  in  the  direction  of  the  deep  woods  to  the  south 
west  of  them. 

"  Your  nerves  do  need  ironing  out,"  mused  Rosa 
mond,  shaking  herself  free  of  the  atmosphere  of 
gloominess  and  twisty-ness  Sydney  lived  in,  by  an 
effort.  "  Too  much  stepmother,  did  you  say?  Isn't 
she  nice  ?  " 

"  Altogether  too  much.  Yes,  nice,  I  suppose,  only 
she  worries  me.  Oh,  if  I  were  only  a  man !  " 

Rosamond  took  a  long  breath.  She  fixed  her  eyes 
on  Sydney. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  if  you  feel  the  way  you  seem 
to  about  this  sorry  scheme  of  things  entire,  why  not 
be  a  man?  " 

"Brace  up,  do  you  mean?"  asked  Miss  Browne 
mutinously. 

"  I  do  not,"  said  Rosamond,  leaning  forward. 
"  Go  and  really  be  a  man.  Why  not  ?  Lots  of 
women  have  done  it.  There  was  a  doctor  in  the 
Civil  War  — " 

"  My  stepmother  — "  began  Sydney  with  a  light 
of  wild  hope  in  her  eye. 

"  No  stepmother,"  said  Rosamond  leisurely,  "  suf 
fers  from  what  she  doesn't  know  about.  It's  simply 
this.  If  you  want  to  do  it  badly  enough,  you  will. 
I  don't  believe  you'll  like  it,  you  know;  I  don't  see 
how  you  can.  But  try  it.  Can  you  think  of  any 


138  WHY  NOT? 

i 

reason  why  you  shouldn't  if  you  really  want  it  more 
than  anything  else  in  the  world  ?  " 

Into  the  face  of  Sydney  Browne  came  something 
of  the  expression  of  a  hypnotic  subject  who  has  just 
been  told  that  what  she  thought  was  a  stone  wall  is 
a  seam  in  the  carpet. 

"I  haven't  any  friends  that  I  care  about.  I'm 
bored  to  death.  Everything's  horrid.  There's  — 
why,  there's  no  reason !  " 

"  Well  then,  do  it,"  advised  Rosamond. 

For  Sydney  was  certainly  all  wrong  as  a  girl.  And 
for  some  reason  Rosamond  was  sure  that  a  short  trial 
of  man-life  would  straighten  her  out.  At  least,  as 
she  had  told  Jerrold,  she'd  have  tried  having  what  she 
wanted,  and  not  worry  any  more. 

"Only,"  Rosamond  added,  "I  don't  believe  I'd 
tell  your  stepmother." 

For  the  first  time,  Sydney  laughed. 

"  I  shan't,"  she  said. 

"  And  now,  come  and  have  your  fortune  told," 
offered  Rosamond  radiantly.  "  I'll  tell  it  for  you 
free,  for  good  luck.  Card  or  palm  ?  " 

"  Cards,"  said  Sydney,  brightening  still  more. 

"  And  after  that  we'll  go  in,  and  you'll  have  break 
fast  with  me,"  said  Rosamond,  bringing  out  her  cards 
and  "  laying "  them  expertly  on  the  ground  before 
her.  "  You'll  take  a  long  journey  soon,"  she  began. 
"And  I  see  here  a  man,  a  sort  of  medium-coloured 
man,  who's  going  to  fall  in  love  with  you." 


THE  DREAM  OF  SYDNEY  BROWNE     139 

"  They  don't,"  said  Sydney,  with  conviction. 

"  And  here's  a  little,  fair  woman,"  Rosamond  went 
on,  "  who  has  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  your  life. 
She  is  going  to  be  married  soon,  too." 

"  My  stepmother  ?  "  said  Sydney.  **  No  such  good 
luck!" 

"  But  you  won't  mind,"  Rosamond  went  on  cheer 
fully.  "  You'll  be  so  happy  yourself  with  the  medium 
man  — " 

"  Nonsense !  "  countered  Sydney  brusquely,  while 
Rosamond  began  to  see  why  she  "  didn't  fit  in  with 
people."  "  I'm  not  interested  in  falling  in  love. 
And  you  talk  about  the  man  as  if  he  was  a  steak." 


CHAPTER  TEN 

THE  SQUIRE  OBJECTS 

4  <T  1C  TELL,  he's  only  in  the  cards,"  soothed  Rosa- 
\  \  mond,  "  and  you  needn't  believe  it  unless 
you  want  to.  Personally  I  should  think  you'd  rather. 
But  never  mind  the  cards.  We'll  leave  them  here 
and  finish  after  breakfast,  if  you  like.  Come  on  in. 
I  only  had  a  sort  of  petit  dejeuner  myself.  And  — " 
Rosamond  began  to  laugh,  "  there's  steak." 

Sydney  picked  her  long  length  off  the  ground  and 
followed  in  obediently. 

"We  must  plan  carefully,"  said  Rosamond  glee 
fully  as  they  ate.  "  We  don't  want  your  stepmother 
to  worry,  or  to  catch  you  at  it,  either !  No  use  hav 
ing  a  fuss.  You  aren't  supposed  to  live  with  her  by 
the  terms  of  a  will  or  anything,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Sydney.  "  We  just  live  together 
because  we  always  have.  You  know  how  you  do." 

Rosamond  was  not  the  kind  of  a  person  who  "  did  " 
that  way,  but  she  only  said,  "  Then  I'd  tell  her  I  was 
going  away  for  a  nerve  cure,  one  of  the  kind  where 
you  can't  write  or  receive  letters,  nor  see  your  friends. 
It's  true  enough.  Run  up  to  New  York  City  and 

draw  enough  money  to  see  you  through.     Get  any- 

140 


THE  SQUIRE  OBJECTS  141 

thing  you  need  in  the  way  of  clothes  and  stores.  I'll 
go  up,  too,  separately,  and  take  a  room,  and  meet 
you.  You  come  there  and  change.  Then  you  can 
get  off  at  a  station  nearer  the  deep  woods  than  this 
is,  and  there  you  are." 

"  Will  you  go  up  with  me  ?  "  demanded  Sydney 
excitedly. 

Rosamond  nodded.  "  Certainly,  if  you  want  me  to. 
We  aim  to  please  our  clients." 

"  This  afternoon  ?  "  asked  Sydney,  without  even 
stopping  to  smile.  But  she  looked  so  happy  she  was 
almost  handsome,  in  spite  of  her  expensively  unbe 
coming  clothes. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Rosamond,  smiling.  "I  told 
you  I'd  help  you." 

"We'll  have  to  get  there  before  three,  so  I  can 
get  to  the  bank,"  remarked  Sydney,  becoming  busi 
nesslike.  She  took  a  timetable  out  of  her  handbag, 
and  had  no  apparent  difficulty  in  deducing  a  train 
from  it.  Rosamond  watched  her  in  unenvious  admira 
tion. 

"  She  ought  to  be  a  man,  all  right ! "  she  thought. 
"  Anybody  ought,  that  has  a  mind  that  can  under 
stand  timetables.  I'm  not  making  any  mistake  in 
realising  this  dream,  certainly."  And  a  glow  of 
virtue  pervaded  her,  that  lasted  even  through  wash 
ing  the  dishes  when  Sydney  had  gone. 

"  You'd  better  take  a  room  at  the  Ansonia,"  Syd 
ney  went  on,  taking  command.  "  I'll  meet  you  there 


WHY  NOT? 

when  I've  been  to  the  bank  and  bought  every 
thing.  .  .  .  But  how  will  we  manage  about  my  going 
there  looking  one  way,  and  going  away  another  ?  " 

"  Very  simply,"  answered  Rosamond,  after  she  had 
stared  at  the  wall  a  minute.  "  Wear  in  a  long  rain 
coat,  a  strictly  neuter  one.  Tuck  a  cap  in  its  pocket. 
Wear  a  small  hat  and  an  auto-veil.  Then,  when 
you've  changed,  and  we're  leaving,  wear  the  same  coat 
and  veil  and  hat.  When  we  get  in  a  dark  place,  or 
some  such  thing,  I'll  tuck  the  hat  and  veil  in  my  suit 
case,  and  you  can  put  your  cap  on.  And  now  you'll 
just  have  time  to  get  back  to  your  hotel  and — " 

"And  break  the  news  to  stepmother,"  interrupted 
Sydney,  grinning.  "  I'll  meet  you  at  the  Ansonia, 
then."  She  told  Rosamond  where  it  was,  and  went 
whistling  gaily  down  the  path. 

"  She  won't  like  it,"  mused  Rosamond,  as  she  did 
the  dishes.  "  But  her  nerves  will  straighten  out. 
She  thinks  nobody  loves  her,  and  she's  too  proud  to 
own  up  to  it,  even  to  herself,  poor  girl!  And  it 
hasn't  occurred  to  her  to  practise  loving  other 
people  just  for  luck.  ...  I  wish  I  knew  a  man 
that.  .  .  ." 

Rosamond  continued  to  think  hard.  But  she  could 
not  remember  any  one  whom  she  felt  would  suit  Syd 
ney  exactly.  Jerrold  was  too  light-hearted,  and  the 
Squire  —  well,  he  was  too  serious-minded.  Perhaps 
somebody'd  come  along. 

She   telephoned  over  to  know  if  Martha  would 


THE  SQUIRE  OBJECTS 

mind  having  Allie  with  her  that  afternoon.  Then  she 
emptied  her  suit-case,  fed  the  bloodhound  lavishly, 
and  took  the  twelve-two  for  the  city. 

She  got  to  the  hotel  quite  a  little  while  be 
fore  Sydney,  who  came  breezily  in  at  about  half- 
past  three,  swinging  her  suit-case  with  joyous  aban 
don,  and  walking  like  a  college  boy  just  off  for  his 
vacation.  Her  sallow  cheeks  burned  red  and  her  eyes 
were  bright  with  excitement. 

"  Got  every  single  thing,"  she  said  briefly,  giving 
her  suit-case  an  athletic  hurl  to  the  middle  of  the 
bed,  where  she  dived  after  it  and  began  to  unstrap  it. 
"  Didn't  forget  a  thing.  Got  a  duck-gun  and  a 
bully  fishing-rod  and  cartridges  — " 

"I  hope  you  remembered  the  clothes,"  Rosamond 
suggested. 

"  Oh,  goodness,  yes,"  answered  Sydney,  beginning 
to  dig  terrier-wise  at  the  contents  of  the  suit-case. 
"  Everything  I'll  need,  sweater,  overcoat,  two  suits, 
underclothes,  shoes  — " 

Having  pawed  out  what  she  wanted,  she  jerked  off 
her  coat  and  hat  and  began  the  work  of  changing. 
She  looked  genuinely  happy  for  the  first  time  since 
Rosamond  had  seen  her. 

"  To  think  I  might  have  done  this  any  time  the 
last  five  years !  "  she  ej  aculated.  "  And  it  never  oc 
curred  to  me  before.  Rosamond  —  do  you  mind  if 
I  call  you  that  ?  —  Rosamond,  you're  a  mighty  clever 
girl." 


144  WHY  NOT? 

"  Such  beautiful  hair !  What  a  pity !  "  said  Rosa 
mond,  looking  regretfully  at  the  heavy  black  braids 
bound  about  Sydney's  head. 

"  'Tis  false ! "  said  Sydney  in  her  deep  voice,  flip 
pantly.  "  They  aren't  my  own  real  hair  at  all,  my 
dear."  She  unpinned  the  heavy  plaits  and  handed 
them  to  Rosamond.  "  Here,"  she  said,  "  throw  them 
away!" 

She  shook  down  her  own  hair,  straight  and  black 
and  not  very  long,  about  her  shoulders. 

"  Throw  them  away?  "  said  Rosamond;  "  not  a  bit 
of  it !  You  may  need  them ;  indeed,  I  have  a  premoni 
tion  that  you  will." 

"  Rats !  "  said  Sydney  appropriately.  "  Now  how 
am  I  going  to  manage  so  my  hair  will  be  cut  decently  ? 
I  don't  suppose  you  know  how  ?  " 

Rosamond  shook  her  head,  and  thought  hard  a 
moment.  "  But  I  have  an  idea,"  she  added,  and  went 
over  to  the  room  telephone. 

"  The  hotel  information  desk,  please  ? "  she 
asked.  ..."  Is  this  Information  ?  .  .  .  I'm  a 
stranger  here.  Can  you  tell  me  if  there  is  a  Poets' 
Quarter  in  New  York,  like  a  Latin  Quarter  or 
a  Ghetto?  .  .  .  Greenwich  Village?  Thank  you. 
Where?  .  .  .  Thank  you.  There,"  she  turned  to 
Sydney.  "Do  you  see?" 

"  No,"  said  Sydney,  very  naturally. 

"  I  can  sort  of  box  your  hair,"  explained  Rosa 
mond,  "  as  if  you  were  a  poet.  A  male  poet,  I  mean. 


THE  SQUIRE  OBJECTS  145 

Then  we'll  go  to  a  Greeenwich  Village  barber-shop, 
and  you'll  pretend  you're  a  poet  going  to  reform 
and  lead  a  more  prosaic  life,  and  want  a  real  hair 
cut.  I  don't  suppose  anything  surprises  them,  down 
there." 

The  idea  struck  Sydney  as  excellent,  and  she  sat 
down  on  a  chair,  while  Rosamond  did  the  best  she 
could  with  her  hair.  When  it  was  done  Sydney 
grinned  boyishly  at  herself  in  the  glass.  "  Grand 
effect !  "  she  said.  She  was  dressed  in  a  grey  flannel 
outing  shirt,  a  red  tie,  a  dark  coat  and  trousers,  and 
heavy  tan  boots.  She  was  tall  and  thin  enough  to 
look  quite  like  a  boy  of  twenty.  She  made  a  good- 
looking  boy,  at  that ;  not  particularly  noticeable  one 
way  or  the  other,  except  for  her  big  black  eyes. 
"  Some  class ! "  she  added,  producing  a  cigarette, 
which  she  began  to  smoke  at  quite  the  wrong  angle. 

"  Sh-h ! "  warned  Rosamond,  rolling  up  the  loose 
ends  of  hair  and  tucking  them  inside  a  handkerchief 
in  the  suit-case,  then  picking  up  the  circle  of  clothes 
on  the  floor  and  laying  that  away  too.  "  You're  a 
perfect  lady  yet,  remember.  It  would  never  do  for 
the  hotel  people  to  see  you  come  in  as  a  girl  and 
go  out  as  a  boy.  Here,  slip  on  your  coat  and 
hat." 

It  was  something  of  a  struggle  to  get  the  motor- 
bonnet  to  stay  on  Sydney's  Castle-cut  hair,  but  the 
veil  tied  over  it  held  it  in  place.  Sydney  pulled  on 
a  pair  of  dogskin  gloves  and  the  two  girls  started 


146  WHY  NOT? 

for  Greenwich  Village,  where  a  poet  can  do  almost 
anything  unnoticed  by  the  throng. 

"Is  your  cap  in  your  pocket?  "  Rosamond  whis 
pered  as  they  paid  their  bill. 

"  It's  a  Fedora,"  responded  Sydney.  "  Now  where 
on  earth  am  I  going  to  make  these  trifling,  yet  highly 
necessary  changes  ?  " 

They  were  out  on  the  street,  now,  Sydney  in  her 
neuter  raincoat  and  ladylike  motor-bonnet  still. 
They  looked  up  and  down  the  avenue.  But  it  was 
nothing  like  dark  yet. 

"  If  we  could  find  some  double  doors,"  said  Ros 
amond  in  perplexity. 

But  Broadway  offered  nothing  of  the  sort  just 
there.  What  it  did  offer  was  a  large,  alert  police 
man  ;  and  Rosamond  remembered  acutely  that  there 
were  such  things  as  laws  against  wearing  the  clothes 
that  make  you  happiest,  if  they  aren't  the  ones  your 
eex  should  sport. 

They  decided  on  a  plan  finally.  They  walked  into 
the  nearest  residential  street  and  into  the  vestibule 
of  the  nearest  millionaire  house.  But  they  did  not 
ring  the  bell. 

"  Here,  quick,"  said  Sydney  to  Rosamond,  and 
handed  her  the  motor-bonnet  and  rain-coat  to  put  in 
her  suit-case.  Then  they  waited  five  minutes,  to  give 
any  one  who  had  seen  them  go  in  time  to  have  passed 
by.  After  that  Sydney,  the  Fedora  on  her  head,  and 
a  suit-case  in  either  hand  in  a  gentlemanly  fashion, 


THE  SQUIRE  OBJECTS  147 

led  the  way  confidently  out,  as  convincing  a  minor 
poet  as  you'd  wish  to  see. 

"Us  for  Greenwich  Village !"  she  said  joyfully. 
They  took  a  Fifth  Avenue  'bus  unchallenged. 

People  stared  at  them  a  little,  but  it  was  obviously 
only  because  Rosamond  was  pretty,  Sydney  patently 
of  the  Younger  Choir,  and  both  of  them  sparkling 
with  such  joy  as  you  seldom  see  on  Broadway. 

The  Italian  barber  in  Greenwich  displayed  no  mis 
trust  whatever  as  he  administered  his  haircut.  In 
deed,  he  supplied  his  own  facts. 

66  You  maka  da  hit  with  da  poetry  ?  "  he  guessed. 
"  You  goin'  taka  da  flat  uptown,  giva  da  tendency 
lecture?" 

"  You've  guessed  it ! "  said  Sydney,  rapturously; 
allowing  herself  to  be  mistaken  for  one  of  the  arrived- 
and-about-to-be  conventional.  The  barber  waved 
the  bay  rum  above  her. 

"  Oh,  the  brave  days  when  I  was  twenty-one ! "  he 
quoted  in  French,  and  hinted  that  Sydney  would  yet 
look  back  to  these  long-haired  Bohemian  days  with 
regret.  Evidently  his  artistic  surroundings  had  had 
their  effect  on  him. 

"  Exactly,"  replied  Sydney  stolidly,  while  she  de 
clined  the  bay  rum.  Rosamond  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands.  The  barber,  if  he  saw  her  shaking  shoul 
ders,  doubtless  deduced  that  Sydney  was  breaking 
the  engagement  as  he  soared  to  higher  spheres. 

After  that  they  caught  the  train.     Sydney  showed 


148  WHY  NOT? 

a  subdued  desire  to  whistle,  but  Rosamond  checked 
her. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Sydney,  turning  round  on  the 
car-seat.  "  You've  done  me  the  best  turn  anybody 
ever  did.  You  said  you  thought  of  these  things  for 
a  living.  And  anyway  you're  a  mighty  kind  girl, 
and  — "  it  was  evidently  Sydney's  highest  compli 
ment  — "  not  a  bit  of  a  cat !  .  .  .  I'd  better  give  you 
your  fee  before  I  get  to  my  station.  It's  the  next 
one." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  charge,"  said  Rosamond 
simply.  "  What  I've  done  hasn't  cost  me  any  time 
or  trouble.  I  only  suggested  the  commonsense  thing 
to  do." 

"  Then  I'll  give  you  this  much  to  start  with," 
said  Sydney.  She  opened  a  shiny,  new,  mannish 
pocketbook,  and  took  out  some  folded  bills  that  she 
pushed  into  Rosamond's  hand.  "  I'm  paying  you 
for  a  chance  at  happiness,  you  know,"  she  said.  "  If 
it  isn't  all  you  deserve  I'll  give  you  the  rest  when  I 
see  you  again." 

"  According  to  how  much  happiness  you  get  out 
of  it,"  said  Rosamond,  smiling.  She  felt  a  little 
tired,  and  as  if  her  mind  had  lifted  something  very 
heavy  in  the  last  day.  "  Come  over  and  see  me  and 
tell  me  about  how  things  go." 

"  I'll  walk  over  —  let's  see,  this  is  Wednesday  — > 
in  about  a  week,"  Sydney  volunteered.  "  It's  only 
about  eight  miles." 


THE  SQUIRE  OBJECTS  149 

"  Don't  forget,"  Rosamond  reminded  her,  "  I'll 
have  all  your  girl-clothes,  and  everything,  all  ready 
for  you  any  time  you  want  them." 

"  I'll  see  myself  wanting  them ! "  said  Sydney 
scornfully.  "  This  is  the  first  chance  at  a  really 
good  time  I've  had  since  they  shipped  me  to  board 
ing-school." 

"  And  your  present  plans  ?  "  Rosamond  asked  a 
little  anxiously,  for  a  strange  new  feeling  was  ris 
ing  up  within  her.  She  did  not  know  what  it  was, 
but  it  was  the  sense  of  responsibility.  When  you 
take  live  human  beings  and  set  them  on  entirely  new 
tracks  in  life  there  is  apt  to  be  a  feeling  of  that 
sort,  even  if  you  are  the  gayest  of  adventurers  in 
living.  But  Sydney's  ideas  did  not  seem  revolution 
ary. 

"  Headquarters,  for  the  present,  in  that  little  vil 
lage  we  picked  out,"  she  said.  "I'll  get  a  tent  and 
do  some  real  camping  later.  At  present  I'm  going  to 
shoot  ducks  and  collect  perch,  and  so  forth.  Great 
Scott,  think  of  lying  on  your  back  on  pine-needles 
for  a  whole  afternoon,  if  you  like,  with  nobody  to 
remind  you  of  how  mussed  your  frock  is,  or  how 
brown  you're  getting,  dear  1 " 

"  I  know  you'll  have  a  lovely  time,"  said  Rosa-, 
mond,  though  she  couldn't  forbear  the  thought  that 
she  herself  would  have  been  very  much  bored  by  the 
exclusive  society  of  ducks  and  pine-needles.  The 
world  was  so  full  of  people.  "  Sydney !  "  she  spoke 


150  WHY  NOT? 

suddenly  and  earnestly.  "  It  isn't  going  to  be  all 
smooth  sailing,  even  alone  with  the  ducks.  But  if 
things  seem  crossways,  just  remember  they  really 
aren't.  And  they  really  won't  be  when  you've  looked 
them  over  a  couple  of  times.  It's  an  awfully  nice 
world.  'Why  not?'  said  the  caterpillar." 

"  All  right,"  said  Sydney  hastily,  for  the  train 
had  reached  her  station.  She  made  a  swift  snatch 
for  her  suit-case,  kissed  Rosamond  a  hurried  good 
bye  and  was  gone  from  the  train. 

Rosamond  watched  her  stride  across  the  little  plat 
form,  leap  over  a  fence  which  two  sleeping  pigs 
seemed  to  have  pre-empted,  and  disappear  into  the 
woods. 

"  Good  for  Sydney ! "  she  said,  cheerfully  dismiss 
ing  any  misgivings  she  might  have  been  going  to 
have.  Then  she  looked  down  at  the  bills  on  her  lap, 
and  began  to  count  them.  Ten,  twenty,  thirty,  fifty, 
a  hundred  —  gracious,  she  must  have  made  a  mistake ! 
She  began  again.  Yes,  that  was  right.  A  hundred 
dollars,  and  more  to  come.  No  mistake  at  all  — 
three  hundred !  She  shut  the  unheard-of  sum  hastily 
in  her  bag,  where  it  couldn't  escape,  and  tried  to 
realise  it.  "  Three  hundred  dollars  !  "  she  exclaimed 
under  her  breath,  happily  and  half-incredulously. 
"Why  on  earth—" 

"  Miss  Rosamond?  "  said  a  severe  voice  behind  her, 
breaking  into  her  glorious  visions  of  the  things  three 
hundred  dollars  could  and  would  do.  She  turned, 


THE  SQUIRE  OBJECTS  151 

naturally,  and  looked  into  the  Squire's  grey  and 
disapproving  eyes:  and  braced  herself  for  conflict. 

"  Rosamond  —  exactly,"  she  said  flippantly. 
"  Won't  you  come  and  sit  by  me  ?  "  she  added  with  a 
gentle  sweetness  intended  to  disarm. 

He  dropped  into  Sydney's  vacant  seat  without  any 
further  invitation,  and  began  inquisition  on  the  spot, 
without  even  inquiring  as  to  what  Rosamond  thought 
of  the  weather.  "Where  have  you  been?"  he  de 
manded  point-blank. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  retorted  Rosamond. 
"  In  the  seat  behind  me,  I  suppose,  seeing  that  It 
didn't  do  anything  rash  to  the  train ! " 

"  Three  seats,"  corrected  the  Squire,  patiently. 

He  looked  very  nice,  but  alarmingly  larger  than 
Rosamond,  and  most  forbidding.  Yes,  forbidding 
was  exactly  the  word.  You  could  imagine  him  open 
ing  his  mouth  only  to  forbid  everything  he  saw, 
thought  Rosamond. 

"  You've  evidently  been  visiting  my  cousin 
George,"  she  said.  "  You  have  his  air  exactly. 
How  are  things  in  East  Warren,  anyway  ?  " 

"No,  I  haven't,"  he  denied.  "Was  that  man 
with  you  a  relative  ?  " 

At  this  very  direct  question  she  fired  up. 

"  Ask  a  little  more  politely !  "  she  flared. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Squire,  who  really 
had  perfect  manners,  even  under  provocation. 
"  Was  the  gentleman  with  you,  who  bade  you  a  pub- 


152  WHY  NOT? 

lie  good-bye  just  now,  connected  with  you  in  any 
way?" 

"  Gentleman  ?  "  queried  Rosamond,  genuinely  at 
sea.  She  could  not  think  for  the  life  of  her  what  she 
meant.  Then  it  came  to  her.  Sydney! —  In  her 
convincing  disguise.  Her  heart  began  to  beat  a  little 
quickly,  but  she  remembered  that  come  what  would, 
she  must  not  betray  her  clients.  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  laughed  a  little,  though  her  cheeks 
burned. 

"Don't  you  know  that  old  minstrel  joke?"  she 
asked  him  impertinently.  "  *  Who  was  dat  lady  ah 
seen  yo  wid  las'  night,  Brer  Tambo  ?  '  6  Gwan,  man, 
dat  wan't  no  lady  —  dat  was  mah  wife ! ' : 

"Well,"  said  the  Squire,  who  evidently,  from  his 
lack  of  appreciation,  didn't  frequent  minstrel  shows. 

" 6  Gwan,  man,' "  said  Rosamond,  though  her 
cheeks  were  flushed  at  her  own  impertinence,  " '  dat 
wan't  no  gentleman  —  dat  was  ma  friend ! '  " 

The  fact  that  she  was  merely  telling  the  truth 
naturally  did  not  occur  to  the  Squire,  who  took  it  for 
granted  that  she  did  not  want  to  tell  him.  But  he 
took  himself  in  hand  with  the  same  admirable  patience 
he  had  shown  throughout. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said.  "  Of  course  I  realise  as 
fully  as  you  do  that  I  have  no  right  to  cross-question 
you  this  way,  but  in  a  way  I  have,  too.  You  have 
never  lived  entirely  by  yourself  before,  and  you  don't 
know  much  about  the  world  — " 


THE  SQUIRE  OBJECTS  153 

The  rest  of  the  solution  came  into  Rosamond's 
head,  which  certainly  must  have  been  a  very  dull  one 
that  day.  He  had  seen  Sydney  —  why,  yes,  Sydney 
had  kissed  her  good-bye.  And  the  Squire  had  seen 
it,  and  was  shocked.  Just  exactly  like  him,  to  think 
she  would  do  such  a  thing,  even  if  he  saw  it!  She 
first  felt  cross,  then  she  began  to  smile  irrepressibly, 
and  pile  on  the  horror.  Just  why  she  wanted  to  ex 
asperate  Mr.  Squire  to  the  breaking-point  over  her 
being  kissed  by  a  supposed  man  she  did  not  stop  to 
find  out  about  herself. 

"  No,  he  wasn't  exactly  a  relative,"  she  said  gently. 
"  Just  a  client.  A  very  nice  person,  though." 

"  An  old  client  —  a  person  you've  known  a  long 
time?  "  he  asked,  clinging  to  straws  visibly. 

"  Oh,  no !  We  just  met  to-day,  and  we've  been 
spending  the  afternoon  in  town  together,"  she  said 
guilelessly.  "  Official  business,  you  know.  A  poor 
girl  must  live.  I've  been  realising  a  very  fine  dream 
for  him.  He  gave  me  a  very  good  fee  for  it,  far 
more  than  I'd  think  a  dream  that  size  was 
worth." 

She  sat  back  and  smiled  to  herself,  and  waited  to 
see  what  that  would  elicit. 

"  Don't  you  know,"  thundered  the  Squire  (if  thun 
dering  can  be  done  in  a  low  voice),  "  that  you  mustn't 
let  a  man  you've  only  known  one  day  kiss  you  good 
bye  ?  Or  don't  you  know  — " 

The  other  alternative,  that  she  did  know  and  still 


154  WHY  NOT? 

suffered  it,  was  evidently  too  unpleasant  for  him  to 
want  to  say  aloud. 

Rosamond  coloured  up.  But  now  she'd  begun  she 
thought  she  might  as  well  go  all  the  way. 

"Why  not?"  said  she. 

For  the  first  time  she  learned  that  the  Squire  had 
a  real  temper.  That  particular  formula  of  hers 
wasn't  soothing  to  him,  at  best,  she  knew.  But  she 
hadn't  imagined  that  it  would  do  quite  all  it  did. 
His  black  brows  met  across  his  forehead,  and  he 
turned  quite  white  with  temper.  He  was  quivering 
all  over,  too.  She  had  heard  before  of  people  trem 
bling  with  rage,  but  this  was  the  first  time  she  had 
ever  really  seen  it.  Rosamond  did  not  admit  it,  even 
to  herself,  but  she  felt  a  little  frightened.  She 
reached  out  a  deprecatory  hand  and  laid  it  on  the 
Squire's  tense  wrist. 

"  Truly,  there's  a  very  simple  explanation,"  she 
said.  "And  it  leaves  me  blameless,  even  according 
to  your  ideas.  Only  —  I  can't  tell  you." 

"You  can!"  he  said. 

Rosamond  looked  up  at  him  appealingly. 

"  But  it's  a  secret,"  she  said.  "  And  not  my  secret. 
I  really  don't  —  don't  kiss  clients  as  a  part  of  the 
routine.  Please  .  .  .  please,  Master  Johnnie !  " 

She  spoke  the  last  words  in  a  half-laughing,  half- 
tremulous  mimicry  of  Martha.  And  the  Squire,  be 
tween  soothing  hand  and  appealing  eyes,  relaxed  a 
little,  and  the  clear  colour  came  back  to  his  cheeks. 


THE  SQUIRE  OBJECTS  155 

"  Won't  you  give  me  your  explanation?  "  he  asked, 
and  there  was  even  a  touch  of  entreaty  in  his  voice. 
"Indeed,  I  am  only  interested  for  your  own  good, 
Miss  Rosamond." 

"  But  —  but  indeed  I  can't !  "  said  Rosamond. 
Her  joke  was  getting  to  near  deadly  earnest  to  be 
funny  any  more,  but  there  wasn't  any  way  out. 
"  Won't  you  take  my  word  for  it  that  it's  all  right?  " 

"  Against  the  sight  of  my  own  eyes  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes !  "  said  Rosamond  defiantly,  "  against  the 
sight  of  your  own  eyes !  " 

"  In  other  words,"  he  said,  and  he  was  becoming 
angry  again,  "  it's  not  my  affair." 

She  nodded  sadly.  "I'm  sorry  to  seem  impolite, 
but  — it's  not!" 

"  Then  there's  nothing  more  to  be  said,"  he  ended 
conclusively,  and  looked  black  again.  But  he  did  not 
leave  her. 

"  Wanalasset !  "  called  the  conductor. 

Mr.  Squire  lifted  Rosamond's  suit-case,  which  he 
eyed,  she  thought,  as  who  should  say,  "  Why  should 
she  need  a  suit-case  for  an  afternoon's  trip  ?  "  and 
carried  it  out  for  her.  Nothing  is  more  trying  than 
to  have  people  who  have  been  scolding  you  offer  you 
courtesies  you  have  to  be  polite  about. 

"  I'm  taking  the  trolley  down  to  the  landing  at  the 
lake,  and  the  motor-boat  over,"  she  said,  holding  her 
hand  out  for  the  suit-case. 

"  The  car's  waiting,"  he  answered,  making  no  move 


156  WHY  NOT? 

to  hand  it  to  her.  "  You  had  much  better  go  up  in 
it  with  me." 

He  had  her  bag  in  one  hand  and  her  elbow  in  the 
other,  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  go  up  with 
him,  or  jerk  away  like  a  naughty  small  girl.  So  she 
got  in. 

The  chauffeur  beamed  at  the  sight  of  her,  and  she 
asked  exhaustively  after  his  wife,  who  had  been  ill. 
But  the  most  circumstantial  chauffeur's  wife  won't 
last  forever  as  a  subject  of  conversation.  Talk  with 
the  chauffeur,  who  was  grateful  but  not  fluent, 
flagged,  then  died ;  and  she  discovered  by  a  feeling  in 
the  atmosphere  that  the  Squire  was  still  waiting  for 
his  explanation. 

"  But  I  can't  tell  you !  "  she  answered  with  petulant 
suddenness  to  what  the  Squire  was  not  saying  .  .  . 
"  I  could  give  you  a  truthful,  adequate  explanation 
that  would  appease  even  Cousin  George,  if  it  was  hon 
ourable  to  betray  clients'  secrets.  Oh,  can't  you  use 
your  imagination  and  plan  some  way  that  it  could  be 
all  right  for  me  to  —  to  have  done  it?"  Rosa 
mond's  cheeks  went  scarlet. 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  he  said.  "  But  there  is  abso 
lutely  no  way  that  it  could  be  all  right.  But  I  wish 
you  would  give  me  your  explanation." 

"  We're  simply  going  round  and  round  in  a  circle," 
said  Rosamond,  her  voice  quivering  with  what  might 
have  been  either  feeling  or  exasperation.  "  Either 
you  hold  me  blameless,  on  faith,  or  —  you  don't." 


THE  SQUIRE  OBJECTS  157 

"  Oh,  you  are  the  most  unmanageable  person  I 
ever  saw ! "  exclaimed  the  Squire  impatiently,  and 
quite  as  if  he  owned  the  entire  right  to  manage  her, 
she  thought  resentfully. 

"Then  don't  try  to  manage  me,"  said  she  hotly. 
"  And  send  the  man  over  with  the  suit-case  — "  as  they 
neared  the  usual  jumping-off  place,  and  the  Squire 
showed  signs  of  doing  it  — "  and  good-bye." 

She  ran  fleetly  down  the  little  footpath,  very  much 
like  a  child  trying  to  get  away  from  a  scolding.  The 
Squire  looked  gloomily  after  her. 

"  Carry  Miss  Gilbert's  suit-case  over,  Williams,'* 
he  said.  "  I'll  wait  here  till  you  get  back." 

Rosamond  slowed  up  to  let  Williams  drop  half  a 
step  behind  her  with  his  load.  She  wondered  if  it 
would  burst  apart,  and  if  it  did,  if  Sydney's  double 
plait  and  girl-clothes  would  fly  out.  A  false  braid 
four  shades  darker  than  your  own  hair  might  be  in 
criminating.  But  it  arrived  without  mishap. 

Rosamond  sat  down  on  her  own  bottom  step  and 
relaxed  wearily  for  a  moment.  Life  was  very  hard. 
Yes,  it  was  —  even  when  you  had  your  own  way,  and 
everything  promised  to  turn  out  beautifully.  .  .  . 
And  nobody  to  comfort  you.  .  .  . 

A  soft  little  pointed  nose  pushed  itself  gently  un 
der  her  arm,  and  something  warm  and  brown  began 
to  climb,  a  little  deprecatingly,  on  to  her  knees. 
Rosamond  stopped  intending  to  cry,  and  looked  down. 
It  was  the  most  adorable  of  little  golden-brown  dogs ; 


158  WHY  NOT 

and  it  seemed  to  be  certain  that  she  wanted  it  badly. 
At  least,  when  she  flung  her  arms  tight  around  it,  and 
said,  "  Oh,  you  darling !  "  it  wagged  its  little  feathery 
tail,  and  whined  a  little,  comfortably,  as  if  it  fully 
reciprocated.  Nothing  can  be  quite  so  coquettishly 
affectionate  as  a  nearly-grown  spaniel  who  has  never 
had  reason  to  be  afraid  of  people.  This  was  a  span 
iel  with  even  more,  so  it  seemed  to  Rosamond,  than 
the  usual  sweetness  of  its  kind.  And  it  unmistakably 
knew  it  belonged  to  her. 

"  You  darling !  "  she  said  again.  "  You  knew  your 
mistress  was  lonesome  and  felt  horrid,  didn't  you !  I 
believe  the  angels  sent  you!"  And  then,  too  late, 
she  remembered  that  the  only  angel  was  Mr.  John 
Squire,  with  whom  she  had  just  had  a  quarrel!  that 
this  was  unquestionably  the  little  dog  the  kennel-man 
had  said  would  be  up  the  next  day.  The  next  day  — 
was  yesterday  only  one  day  away?  It  seemed  miles 
and  years  off. 

66  You  come  from  him,  too ! "  she  said  plaintively 
to  the  little  dog.  "  Oh,  doggie  darling,  why  couldn't 
it  have  been  an  angel  —  or  even  a  devil  would  have 
been  better ! "  she  added  crossly,  as  her  wrongs  came 
back  to  her  afresh. 

Doggie  Darling  looked  up  at  her,  and  then  put 
one  little  golden-brown  paw  up  to  her  cheek  to  pat  it. 
The  action  was  almost  like  a  human  being's.  She 
gathered  the  dog  up  close  and  carried  him  inside, 
where  Allie  waited  her,  curled  on  the  rug  behind  the 


THE  SQUIRE  OBJECTS  159 

bloodhound,  who  wagged  his  tail  unenviously  as  Rosa 
mond  came  in  with  the  spaniel  in  her  arms. 

"  It's  the  little  dog  Mr.  Squire  ordered  for  you 
yesterday,"  explained  Allie.  "  Isn't  he  a  little 
beauty?  I  do  think  Mr.  Squire's  the  best  man  in  the 
world  —  except  you,  Auntie  dear,"  she  added  con 
scientiously. 

Rosamond  began  to  laugh  a  little  tremulously. 
"  Oh,  you  needn't  except  me,"  she  said. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Auntie  ?  Ain't  you  happy  ?  " 
asked  Allie,  coming  over  to  her  and  looking  worried, 
with  the  big  dog  close  behind  her,  copying  her  look 
of  anxiety  ludicrously. 

"  Perfectly,"  replied  Rosamond.  "  At  least,"  she 
temporised  with  her  conscience,  "  I'm  going  to  be  as 
happy  as  if  I  really  were  happy.  But  it's  a  wee  bit 
hard." 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

SYDNEY   ATTAINS 

SYDNEY  BROWNE,  meanwhile,  cut  cheerfully 
acr oss-lots,  swinging  her  suit-case.  She  was  a 
very  happy  young  person.  As  she  recalled  the  joy 
ous  fact  that  in  her  suit-case  there  were  no  fluffy 
things  to  be  dealt  with  gingerly,  nor  any  starched 
ones  to  be  sat  down  on  carefully,  she  began  to  whistle 
aloud.  She  stopped  herself,  remembered  with  more 
self-congratulation  that  she  could  whistle  all  she 
wanted  to  now,  and  went  gaily  on  again.  Even  the 
muddiness  inseparable  from  Spring-time  in  the  coun 
try  seemed  a  glorious  thing. 

"  What  ye  goin'  through  all  that  mud  for,  young 
feller?"  inquired  the  voice  of  a  middle-aged  country 
man  who  was  yet  hidebound  enough  to  prefer  the 
footpaths. 

"  Looking  for  a  room  hereabouts,"  she  answered 
briefly.  "  Going  the  shortest  way.  Know  of  any  ?  " 

"  Well,  at  Mrs.  Fredericks'  you  can  get  room  with 
board  —  but  it's  bad.  Over  Sheppard's  store  you 
can  get  a  very  good  room,  but  hunt  your  own  meals. 
And  Mrs.  Fredericks,  she  don't  take  it  well  if  you 

just  room  with  her  and  not  board." 

160 


SYDNEY  ATTAINS  161 

"I'll  try  the  room  over  Sheppard's  store,"  said 
Sydney  decisively.  "  Which  way  ?  " 

"Right  down  this  road,"  answered  the  man,  look 
ing  a  little  hurt  at  having  his  leisurely  discourse  cut 
so  short. 

"  Thanks,"  Sydney  called  back  over  her  shoulder, 
and  fared  on. 

She  found  no  difficulty  in  getting  the  room,  nor  in 
setting  up  a  small  gas-stove  for  cooking,  nor  in  be 
ing  blamelessly  happy.  She  rose  when  she  felt  like 
it,  prepared  and  ate  her  breakfast,  and  after  making 
herself  enough  sandwiches  for  lunch,  went  off  and 
loafed  in  the  woods  all  day.  Nobody  cared  in  the 
least  whom  she  was  or  what  she  did,  except  one  or  two 
of  the  younger  village  girls,  who  made  unperceived 
eyes  at  her  till  they  saw  it  wasn't  any  use.  Even 
her  hypersensitiveness  couldn't  feel  that  any  one  dis 
approved  of  her,  or  was  agreeable  because  of  her 
money. 

The  owner  of  the  store,  indeed,  had  something  of 
a  chronic  grouch;  but  it  was  so  plainly  a  matter  of 
custom  with  him,  a  manner  extended  alike  to  his  wife, 
his  customers  and  his  dog,  that  Sydney  found  her 
self  regarding  it  as  she  did  the  leak  in  the  roof ;  one 
of  the  immutable  decrees  of  life,  to  be  evaded,  not  re 
sented.  Peace  flowed  like  a  river. 

But  nothing  lasts.  About  the  eighth  day  of  her 
adventure  Sydney,  placidly  exploring  the  Sheppard 
glass-fronted  biscuit  boxes  for  something  new  to  eat 


162  WHY  NOT? 

at  bedtime,  heard  Mr.  Sheppard  addressing  her  with 
a  certain  mournful  cheer  which  was  his  when  bad 
news  was  to  be  announced. 

"  Well,  young  feller,"  he  announced,  "  chances  are 
you'll  have  to  find  another  bed'n  board.  I've  sold 
the  old  store." 

"You  have?"  cried  Sydney  crossly,  sitting  back 
and  looking  at  him,  with  a  fat  brown  cooky  that  was 
sandwiched  with  some  unknown  white  substance 
clutched  fast  in  her  hand.  "What  for?" 

Really,  it  was  a  most  inconsiderate  thing  for  Shep 
pard  to  do,  just  as  she  was  being  so  comfortably 
happy. 

"  Yep,"  said  Mr.  Sheppard,  perching  himself  on 
his  counter  with  a  sort  of  stiff  abandon.  "  Have  a 
cracker  —  free,"  he  offered  generously.  "  I  don't 
mind.  The  feller,  he'll  never  know.  Have  a  hull 
pound  of  cakes.  I  got  my  money  now." 

Sydney  waved  aside  his  generous  offer.  She  got 
up  and  sat  on  a  barrel  of  oysters  and  demanded 
further  particulars. 

"  He  just  come  along,"  explained  Mr.  Sheppard, 
"  out've  a  clear  sky.  Gimme  nearly  what  I  asked 
fer  it.  An'  I've  been  wantin'  to  go  down  to  the  sum 
mer  resort  an'  open  a  livery  stable  fer  autymobiles. 
I  got  a  cousin  up  the  road  that's  Justice  of  the 
Peace;  makes  lots  of  arrests  for  speedin'.  Him  an' 
me  could  dovetail  in  together  fine." 

Sydney   did  not  quite  see  the  connection,  but  it 


SYDNEY  ATTAINS  163 

sounded  sinister.  She  felt  sorry  for  the  car-owners, 
then  remembered  that  she  really  should  have  been  ex 
pending  her  sympathies  on  herself,  homeless  and 
beardless.  She  liked  her  room  above  the  store.  It 
was  big  and  thick-walled,  and  she  had  just  bought  of 
Mr.  Sheppard  a  new  tin  basin  for  the  accommoda 
tion  of  the  leak. 

"  Does  the  man  want  my  room  ? "  she  asked. 
"  Why  aren't  the  rooms  you  and  Mrs.  Sheppard  use 
enough  for  him  ?  This  was  one  of  those  big  old  brick 
double  houses  once,  wasn't  it?  Has  he  such  a  large 
family?  " 

"  Nup,"  said  Mr.  Sheppard.  "  Just  probably  will. 
Never  can  tell." 

Sydney  selected,  and  insisted  on  paying  for,  her 
cakes,  and  walked  out  with  more  disdain  in  her  soul 
than  she  had  thought  to  have  since  she  had  com 
menced  the  Simple  Life.  It  was  annoying  to  have 
taken  Mr.  Sheppard's  say-so  so  implicitly.  He  was 
one  of  the  people  who  are  such  professional  pessimists 
that  you  begin  to  optimize  (if  such  a  word  there  be) 
automatically,  when  you  have  much  talk  with  them. 
They  exasperate  you  into  looking  on  the  bright  side. 

"  Tell  your  man  you'll  throw  me  in  with  the  fix 
tures,"  she  called  back  cheerfully  over  her  shoulders. 
She  pocketed  her  purchases,  shouldered  her  fishing- 
rod  and  went  out.  But  she  felt  a  little  cross  about  it 
all.  She  lay  down  on  the  pine-needles  of  her  pet 
wood,  and  began  to  munch  her  cakes.  She  was  de- 


164  WHY  NOT? 

veloping  such  a  fearful  appetite  these  days  that  she 
sometimes  feared  growing  too  plump  to  be  convincing 
in  the  role  of  a  boy  of  twenty.  As  she  lay  on  her 
back,  with  one  knee  crossed  over  the  other  in  a  most 
unladylike  fashion,  she  whistled  softly  to  herself,  and 
threw  crumbs  to  a  squirrel  with  whom  she  was  cul 
tivating  a  friendship.  Life  was  so  satisfactory 
here,  with  nobody  to  rub  you  the  wrong  way,  that  in 
spite  of  the  intrusive  stranger  who  was  buying  her 
out  of  house  and  home,  Sydney  felt  most  benevolently 
to  the  world  at  large.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  that 
her  old  self  would  have  hated  Sheppard  and  the 
stranger  on  general  principles.  So  much  difference 
can  pine-needles,  solitude  and  khaki  knickerbockers 
make  in  one's  outlook  on  life! 

Not  even  when  footsteps  rustled  over  the  leaves, 
and  somebody  threw  himself  down  near  her,  out  of 
sight  behind  the  trees,  did  Sydney  feel  wronged.  She 
merely  sat  up,  wrapped  her  arms  around  her  knees, 
and  said  "  Hello !  "  in  a  friendly  way.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  she  thought  it  was  little  Elmer  Pearson,  who- 
had  helped  her  dig  bait  on  several  occasions,  and  was 
making  quite  a  companion  of  her. 

"  Hello  yourself ! "  some  one  answered,  but  it  was 
a  man's  voice. 

Sydney's  first  impulse  was  to  brace  herself  to  be 
agreeable,  and  hate  the  unseen  man  meanwhile.  Then 
she  remembered.  She  was  not  a  girl  now,  humiliated 
if  men  failed  to  find  her  attractive.  She  was  just  an- 


SYDNEY  ATTAINS  165 

other  fellow,  and  she  could  act  as  she  pleased.  It 
did  not  matter  to  her  self-respect  in  the  least  if  she 
failed  to  charm. 

"  Have  some  cakes  ?  "  she  called  across  to  the  in 
vader.  "  I  have  a  bag  here,  but  I'm  too  comfortable 
to  get  up." 

"  You  lazy  brute ! "  commented  the  other  amiably, 
rising  into  sight  and  flinging  himself  down  again, 
nearer  Sydney  and  in  hand's  reach  of  her  paper 
bag. 

"  I  believe  I  carry  these  cookies  myself,"  he  ob 
served  casually  after  he  had  eaten  a  couple. 

She  turned  and  looked  him  over  as  he  lay  on  the 
moss. 

"  Are  you  the  villain  that's  just  turning  me  out  of 
my  lodging  as  I'd  bought  the  leak  a  new  basin?  "  she 
demanded. 

"  Are  you  the  young  fellow  Sheppard  said  he 
thought  wouldn't  want  to  stay  in  your  room  ?  "  in 
quired  the  other  between  mouthfuls. 

Sydney  nodded. 

"  I  expect  he  did  say  that.  It  would  be  very  much 
like  him.  But  I  do  want  to  stay.  Sheppard — 

"  Sheppard  seems  to  be  trying  to  part  us,"  re 
marked  the  new  owner  of  the  store.  He  was  sandy- 
haired  and  heavily  freckled,  but  well-built,  Sydney 
noted,  and  an  unmistakable  "  city  feller."  He  looked 
tired,  and  as  if  life  hadn't  been  particularly  good  to 
him ;  but  there  was  a  certain  shrewd  good-humoured- 


166  WHY  NOT? 

ness  in  his  face  that  Sydney  took  to.  He  was  about 
her  age,  apparently,  and  perhaps  a  half-inch  taller. 

"  I  want  to  stay,  all  right,"  Sydney  went  on. 
"  Even  if  you're  keeping  on  Clarence  Merritt  and  his 
wife  in  the  other  half  of  the  house  there's  plenty  of 
room  for  me." 

"  Oh,  Clarence  won't  continue  to  clerk  unless  he's 
allowed  to  stay,"  said  the  other.  "  But  there's  no 
reason  why  you  shouldn't,  too.  Sheppard  quite  com 
miserated  me  on  your  leaving.  Said  you  were  good 
pay  and  no  trouble." 

They  both  laughed,  and  then  were  quiet  for  a  little 
while,  continuing  to  eat  cakes. 

"  By  the  way,  what's  your  name  ?  "  casually  in 
quired  the  new  owner  of  the  store  then.  "  Mine's 
Mattison." 

"  Mine's  Sydney  Browne,"  responded  Sydney,  se 
cure  in  the  knowledge  that  her  name  could  not  tell 
tales. 

"  Bully  day,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  Mattison,  beginning  to 
fill  his  pipe.  "  Smoke  a  pipe  ?  " 

Sydney  giggled  uncontrollably,  then  shook  her 
head.  "  No,  I  don't  smoke.  I  —  my  stepmother 
made  me  promise  I  never  would." 

"  Good  idea,"  said  Mattison,  sending  up  a  cloud  of 
smoke.  "  Boy  of  your  age  shouldn't  anyhow." 

Sydney  was  going  to  announce  her  twenty-five-year- 
oldness  indignantly,  then  she  thought  she  wouldn't. 
So  she  only  grunted  pleasantly  in  reply,  and  began 


SYDNEY  ATTAINS  167 

coaxing  back  her  suspicious  squirrel.  At  intervals 
she  and  the  new  storekeeper  exchanged  remarks.  But 
not  unless  they  really  wanted  to.  And  any  time 
either  of  them  desired  to  get  up  and  go  home  he  could, 
and  no  hard  feelings.  Sydney  lay  with  her  eyes  half- 
shut,  watching  the  squirrel,  who  had  achieved  her  knee 
by  this  time,  and  thinking  to  herself  that  being  a  man 
had  all  the  good  points  of  existence  and  none  of  the 
bad  ones. 

"  Time  to  go  somewhere  and  hunt  grub,"  suggested 
Mattison  presently,  dragging  an  Ingersoll  out  of  his 
pocket.  "  Coming  along?  " 

Sydney  jumped  up,  to  the  squirrel's  regret,  and  fell 
into  step  beside  him.  She  looked  him  over  again  as 
she  did  so.  A  very  nice  sort  of  a  person,  she  decided. 
And  you  didn't  have  to  talk  to  him  unless  you  wanted 
to. 

"  Are  you  here  for  good  ?  "  she  asked  him  imme 
diately,  not  having  to  break  the  silence.  "  Are  you 
going  to  run  the  store  yourself?  " 

"  Here  for  a  while  anyway,"  he  answered. 

"But  you  aren't  a  country  person,"  she  volun 
teered.  He  didn't  seem  to  fit  at  all. 

"  No  —  but  I  want  to  see  if  the  country  people 
aren't  nicer  than  the  other  kind,"  he  said  unexpect 
edly.  "  Simpler  and  decenter,  you  know,  and  more 
the  kind  one  really  likes,  at  heart." 

Sydney  thought  to  herself  that  from  what  she  knew 
of  the  term  Sheppard  had  been  describing,  on  which 


168  WHY  NOT? 

he  had  sold  his  not  specially  valuable  store,  that  they 
were  not  simpler,  at  least.  But  then  Sheppard  had 
still  a  rather  carping  mind,  she  recognised. 

"  It's  the  country  girls  I  want  to  study  specially," 
went  on  Mattison  ingenuously.  "  They  must  be  dif 
ferent  from  the  girls  I've  seen." 

There  was  a  wistful  note  in  his  voice,  and  Sydney, 
looking  at  him  critically,  suddenly  realised  that,  in 
spite  of  his  rather  harsh  features  and  close-set  mouth, 
her  companion  had  the  eyes  and  forehead  of  a 
dreamer.  And  he  evidently  was  hoping  for  an  im 
provement  on  "  girls  he'd  seen."  Doubtless  they'd 
snubbed  him.  Sydney  began  to  feel  quite  sorry  for 
him. 

"  Where  are  you  planning  to  get  your  dinner?  "  she 
inquired  abruptly. 

Her  companion  started. 

"  Why  —  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  there's  some 
place  in  the  village  where  they'll  feed  you  —  at  a 
price." 

"  But  there's  a  kitchen  back  of  the  store,  and  a 
whole  lot  of  rooms.  That  store  was  one  of  those  old, 
big  brjck  country  houses  people  used  to  build  a  cen 
tury  ago  for  a  father  and  mother  and  nine  children. 
Haven't  you  investigated  your  own  property?  " 

He  grinned. 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  suppose  the  Sheppards  left  me 
a  course  dinner  sitting  up  on  a  steam  table,  when  they 
moved  out." 


SYDNEY  ATTAINS  169 

"  Can't  you  get  your  own  meals  ?  "  asked  Sydney. 

Mattison  looked  blank. 

"  I  never  tried.  Never  thought  about  it.  I  sup 
pose  I  could." 

Here  was  that  rather  unusual  thing,  a  man  who 
couldn't  cook. 

"  Do  you  know  of  any  woman  I  could  get  in  at 
such  short  notice  as  this,  or  any  boarding-place?  " 

"  Only  one,"  said  Sydney,  "  and  that's  fearful.  I 
tried  it  for  one  meal.  I  say  — "  for  a  bright  idea  sud 
denly  struck  her,  "  I'll  get  your  dinner  for  you  to 
day.  I  like  to  cook." 

It  was  pure  good  nature  that  made  her  offer.  But 
she  did  like  cooking,  and  it  would  be  rather  fun  to  do 
it  for  some  one  besides  herself. 

Mattison  was  almost  too  grateful  for  comfort,  and 
accepted  on  the  spot. 

Entering  the  store  was  —  with  a  gruesome  differ 
ence —  like  walking  into  one  of  the  deserted  palaces 
of  a  fairy-tale,  where  the  enchantment  has  descended 
at  a  moment's  notice,  leaving  no  one  any  chance  to 
tidy  up.  The  Sheppards  by  the  terms  of  their  con 
tract,  had  departed  at  noon.  But  they  had  made 
no  attempt  to  efface  the  impressions  of  their  oc 
cupancy.  The  store  door  was  locked,  but  the  key 
hung  trustingly  on  a  large  nail  outside,  with  a  flaring 
label  proclaiming  it  "  Store  Key  "  as  if  dishonesty 
were  not.  Inside,  the  clock  was  going,  the  ice-box 
was  half  open,  the  cheese  uncovered  and  a  large  slice 


170  WHY  NOT? 

half  cut:  and  from  one  corner  the  grocery  cat  wailed 
in  a  low  voice,  for  she  had  been  anchored  by  a  string 
around  one  hind  leg,  which  she  resented,  plaintively. 
She  was  a  low-spirited,  long,  spotted  black  and  white 
cat,  who  never  made  a  loud  noise  at  the  best  of  times. 
Sydney  flew  to  her  rescue,  while  Mattison,  muttering 
to  himself  something  that  sounded  uncommonly  like 
swear-words,  shut  the  ice  chest  and  covered  the  var 
ious  edibles  that  cried  aloud  for  covering. 

"Please  give  me  some  condensed  cream,  or  a  sar 
dine  tin,"  demanded  Sydney  peremptorily.  Mr.  Mat 
tison  dashed  across  to  her  with  an  unopened  tin  in 
each  hand. 

"  Not  unopened,  idiot ! "  said  Sydney,  forgetful 
that  she  was  speaking  to  that  stronger  sex  which 
has  to  be  charmed.  Mattison,  however,  didn't  mind 
being  good-naturedly  called  an  idiot  by  another  fel 
low,  any  more  than  any  one  else  would.  He  got  out 
his  penknife  and  prepared  the  spotted  cat  a  propiti 
atory  meal  of  the  best  sardines. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Sydney  negligently  on  behalf  of 
the  cat,  straightening  herself.  "  Now  we'll  collect 
some  stores  and  have  dinner,  or  luncheon,  as  you 
please." 

Mattison  must  have  been  hungry  enough,  by  this 
time,  to  share  the  cat's  sardines  with  joy.  He  gath 
ered  bacon,  eggs,  potato  chips,  bread,  cakes  and  other 
necessaries  of  life  from  his  stock  at  Sydney's  direc 
tion,  and  they  went  to  the  kitchen  together. 


SYDNEY  ATTAINS  171 

It  was  behind  the  store,  together  with  the  dining- 
room  and  two  other  rooms.  The  other  half  of  the 
house,  originally  two  long  parlours,  had  been  made 
into  quarters  for  Clarence  Merritt  the  clerk,  and  his 
wife  and  babies.  Anybody  used  a  room  upstairs  that 
wanted  to,  Sydney's  being  flagrantly  mixed  in  with 
the  Merritt  quarters.  It  had  been  a  very  good  old 
house  in  its  day,  before  Green's  Corners  had  decayed 
into  a  half-deserted  hamlet. 

"  Just  what  you'd  expect  of  Mrs.  Sheppard's 
housekeeping ! "  criticised  Sydney  scornfully,  cross 
ing  the  threshold  in  advance  of  Mattison.  Sydney 
was  a  natural-born  housewife,  spoiled  by  money. 
"  The  stove  redhot,  and  everything  at  sixes  and 
sevens ! " 

She  tied  a  potato  sack,  which  had  graced  the  mid 
dle  of  the  floor,  over  her  khaki  knickerbockers,  and 
attacked  the  dampers  while  Mattison  sliced  bacon. 
It  was  not  too  hot  to  dine  in  the  kitchen  if  you  opened 
a  few  windows.  After  she  had  scrubbed  the  table 
and  spread  it  with  brown  paper  they  spread  the  paper 
with  things  to  eat:  bacon  and  eggs,  canned  peas, 
and  even  a  nice  little  salad  which  Sydney  had  made 
out  of  garden  lettuce  and  more  things  in  cans. 

Mattison  ate  in  grateful  silence  for  quite  a  little 
while.  Then  he  stopped  and  looked  across  at  the 
lad  who  had  prepared  the  dinner  for  him. 

"  I  say,  you  can  cook ! "  he  said.  "  Look  here. 
Are  you  here  for  a  rest,  or  do  you  need  a  job?  Be- 


172  WHY  NOT? 

cause  I'd  give  you  —  let's  see  —  seven  a  week  and 
board  and  lodging,  to  do  the  cooking  for  me." 

Sydney  considered.  It  was  not  that  she  was  ex 
actly  in  need  of  the  money;  but  she  did  feel  the 
necessity  of  something  with  which  to  employ  her 
energies.  She  had  loafed  in  solitude  and  peace  for 
a  week,  and  now  that  the  rest  and  quiet  had  untangled 
her  nerves,  laziness  was  beginning  to  pall.  She  liked 
cooking,  and  this  seemed  a  nice  enough  fellow.  Be 
sides,  he  owned  the  place,  and  he  might  put  her  out 
if  she  didn't  do  as  he  asked. 

"  What  about  taking  me  on  trial  ?  "  she  suggested 
cautiously.  "  We'll  try  it  out  that  way  for  a  week. 
If  we  don't  suit  each  other  we'll  call  it  off,  and  no 
harm  done.  That  all  right  ?  " 

"That's  all  right,"  agreed  Mattison  thankfully, 
and  ate  up  the  last  of  his  salad.  "  You  certainly 
are  a  good  cook,  kid,"  he  added.  "  I  think  we'll  get 
along  like  a  house  afire." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Sydney  in  a  low  voice.  She 
felt  foolishly  near  crying.  He  —  why,  he  approved 
of  her!  Nobody  had,  unreservedly,  for  some  years 
past.  !And  to  be  appreciated,  even  as  a  boy  cook, 
was  illogically  comforting. 

Rosamond  had  quoted  to  Sydney  a  good  deal  of  her 
guide-book,  "  Alice  in  Wonderland,"  during  the  two 
hours  the  girls  had  spent  together:  and  one  para 
graph  of  it  crossed  Sydney's  mind  as  she  rose  and 
began  to  clear  away: 


SYDNEY  ATTAINS  173 

"  It  made  a  very  poor  baby,  but  a  very  fine  pig." 

"  I  suppose  I'm  like  the  Duchess's  baby,"  she 
thought  with  a  little  smile  as  she  went  to  and  fro 
from  table  to  sink,  expertly  stacking  dishes,  and 
whistling  as  she  stacked.  "  Well,  it's  something  to 
be  a  good  pig,  anyway ! " 

Mattison,  smoking  a  final  pipe  by  the  open  window, 
heard  her  laugh. 

"What's  the  joke?"  he  asked,  very  naturally. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  of  something  from  '  Alice 
in  Wonderland,'  "  Sydney  answered  demurely.  "  Are 
you  going  to  run  the  store  all  alone?  " 

"  Well,  I'm  keeping  on  Merritt,  of  course,"  he  an 
swered.  "  But  I  can  see  a  lot  of  ways  already  for 
making  this  the  best  little  up-to-date  store  for  miles 
around." 

He  went  on  to  dilate  on  the  plans  he  had  formed, 
and  the  joys  of  a  store-keeper's  life. 

"  We'll  have  a  lot  of  time  over,  besides  what  I  put 
on  the  store  and  you  put  on  the  housework,"  he  con 
cluded  genially.  "  We'll  go  and  call  on  all  the  girls, 
and  have  the  time  of  our  lives." 

A  little  chill  came  over  Sydney's  spirit.  Even 
here  —  she  had  forgotten  it  in  the  pleasure  of  her 
new  friend's  society  —  even  here  were  to  be  found 
those  annoying  things,  girls. 

"  I  don't  care  much  about  girls,"  she  said  indif 
ferently,  hanging  up  her  dish-towel. 

"Don't  you  get  on  with  them  well,  generally?" 


174»  WHY  NOT? 

inquired  her  new  employer.  "  Come  on,  let's  go  into 
the  other  room  and  look  that  over." 

"  Not  very  well,"  she  admitted,  following  him  into 
a  badly  littered  "  settin'-room  "  with  a  feverish  wall 
paper,  and  green  plush  chairs  that  made  you  forget 
its  really  good  proportions. 

"  I  don't,  either,"  confessed  Mattison.  "  At  least, 
well  — "  he  looked  bashful  — "  I  want  to  see  how 
they  will,  the  ones  out  here." 

"  You  are  a  queer  fellow  1 "  said  Sydney.  But  her 
mind  was  immediately  taken  up  by  other  considera 
tions.  "  This  place  needs  cleaning  abominably,"  she 
announced.  "  I  knew  Mrs.  Sheppard  was  slack,  but 
I  didn't  know  how  slack.  I  don't  wonder  poor  old 
Sheppard  thought  life  was  going  to  the  dogs.  I'll 
have  to  get  a  cleaning-woman  in." 

"Gee!  Clean  house?"  protested  Mattison,  look 
ing  aghast,  as  if  he  had  not  thought  that  would 
follow  him  here,  any  more  than  Sydney  had  expected 
to  find  girls.  "  Where'll  I  live  while  it's  going  on? 
Couldn't  we  sort  of  get  along,  or  sweep  out  the 
corners  painlessly  a  little  at  a  time,  or  something? 
It  doesn't  show." 

"  Doesn't  show! "  repeated  Sydney  in  an  agony 
that  should  have  betrayed  her  sex  to  anybody. 
"  What  an  awful  idea  1 "  She  ran  her  finger  over 
the  inside  of  the  lamp-shades,  and  showed  it  to  him, 
black.  She  demonstrated  that  roaches  held  recep 
tions  in  all  the  sideboard  drawers.  She  unveiled 


SYDNEY  ATTAINS  175 

musty  horrors  in  cupboards  and  corners,  till  Mattison 
gave  up  abjectly.  "  It  won't  bother  you  a  bit,"  she 
consoled  him,  having  gotten  her  way.  "We  won't 
touch  your  room." 

"  Then  the  roaches  and  pieces  of  pie  will  all  go 
up  there  to  hide,"  Mattison  demurred.  "  You'd  bet 
ter  have  her  clean  that,  too.  Only  — ^  do  it  as  pain 
lessly  as  you  can." 

"  You'll  never  know  a  thing,"  Sydney  promised 
rashly.  "Now  what  about  keeping  store?  You 
really  ought  to  be  at  it  now,  you  know." 

"  I'll  have  to  take  account  of  stock  first,  I  sup 
pose,"  he  answered.  "  But  Merritt  should  be  there 
by  now.  Queer  he  isn't." 

"  Better  go  look,"  advised  Sydney. 

He  lifted  himself  reluctantly  from  the  chenille- 
covered  centre  table  of  the  settin'-room,  and  went 
through  to  the  store.  The  clerk  had  come.  But 
he  was  tactfully  waiting  till  he  was  inquired  for, 
coiled  restfully  on  the  front  steps.  He  was  holding 
a  small  reception  of  customers,  who  were  discussing 
the  new  ownership  of  the  store  with  abandon. 

"You  might  come  in  and  wait  on  the  customers, 
Merritt,"  Sydney  heard  the  store's  new  owner  sug 
gest  gently,  as  she  passed  on  her  way  to  find  a  woman 
to  clean.  She  saw  Merritt  hoist  himself  up  swiftly 
at  that  gentle  suggestion  and  the  look  which  accom 
panied  it,  and  lead  his  flock  inside.  She  also  had 
a  fleeting  impression  as  she  passed  down  the  road 


176  WHY  NOT? 

that  some  of  the  flock  had  even  been  startled  into 
buying  things. 

A  fearful  amount  of  energy  had  been  going  to 
waste  all  the  years  Sydney  had  been  kept  sitting  on 
porches,  doing  bad  embroidery.  Helped  by  the 
cleaning  woman,  whose  name  was  Melinda  Bradley, 
and  whose  household  energies  were  likewise  fearful, 
she  turned  everything  the  Sheppards  had  owned  out 
doors,  and  cleaned  it  to  the  bone.  She  even  re- 
papered  the  ghastly  maroon  sitting-room,  and  to 
gether  with  Melinda  Bradley  made  inoffensive  slip 
covers  for  the  chairs  and  sofa.  Mattison  stayed  out^ 
doors  meekly,  or  in  the  store.  Though  really  most 
of  the  actual  store  work  was  done  by  Clarence  Mer- 
ritt,  as  it  had  been  before,  because  he  knew  all  the  cus 
tomers'  little  ways,  and  could  show  a  commendable 
amount  of  interest  in  their  family  histories.  So 
Mattison  kept  the  accounts,  and  caught  fish. 

After  the  house  had  been  undergoing  purification 
for  about  three  days  its  new  owner  began  to  be  restive. 
He  did  not  mind  the  actual  cleaning  so  much,  it  ap 
peared,  as  he  minded  missing  Sydney's  society. 
When  Sydney  discovered  it  she  promptly  dropped  the 
rest  of  the  cleaning  on  Melinda's  shoulders,  fortu 
nately  broad  ones  and  conscientious,  and  followed 
Mattison  wherever  he  listed.  Mostly  they  took  rods 
or  guns  with  them  when  they  went  off,  but  mostly  they 
used  neither. 

They  roamed  the  woods,  or  curled  over  distant 


SYDNEY  ATTAINS  177 

wood  fires  in  the  evenings,  and  just  talkeiL  Not 
particularly  about  themselves.  About  the  village, 
or  some  book  one  of  them  had  in  a  pocket,  or  why 
people  were  so,  or  the  meaning  of  life,  or  —  any 
thing.  It  really  didn't  matter,  so  long  as  it  was 
spring,  and  they  were  doing  what  they  wanted  to, 
with  each  other  to  talk  to  and  the  whole  of  outdoors 
to  play  with.  And  Sydney  forgot  to  report  to  Ros 
amond,  to  whom  she  really  owed  all  of  this  happy 
life,  for  full  two  weeks. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

MB.  MATTISON 

BUT  in  those  two  weeks  Rosamond  had  been  hav 
ing  things  happen.  The  night  she  returned 
from  her  adventure  with  Sydney  and  her  tilt  with 
the  Squire,  she  sank  into  her  most  comfortable  chair 
and  hoped  that  nothing  more  would  happen  for  at 
least  one  day.  So  her  telephone  rang  within  an  hour 
after  she  got  back.  She  was  just  finishing  her  sup 
per. 

"  You  haven't  forgotten,  have  you,"  said  Richard 
Jerrold's  cheerful  voice,  "  that  I'm  coining  over  to 
night  to  arrange  details  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  Rosamond  found  herself  an 
swering  with  pleasure.  There  wasn't  going  to  be  any 
quarrelling  in  his  direction,  at  least.  Their  relations 
were  always  the  most  peaceful  things  possible.  His 
voice  sounded  pleasantly  anxious  to  see  her.  "  Bring 
along  all  the  details  you  can  find.  Have  you  bought 
the  envelopes  yet,  to  send  your  announcement  cards 
out  in?" 

66  No,  but  they're  ordered,"  he  said.  "  You  ought 
to  see  the  samples,  the  most  ornate  things,  engraved 

and  trimmed  up  till  they  look  like  wedding  invita- 

178 


MR.  MATTISON  179 

tions.  Anybody  that  got  one  of  them  couldn't  help 
coming.  I'll  be  up  as  soon  as  the  canoe  will  bring 
me." 

"Is  it  Tiim?"  inquired  Allie  joyously,  looking  up 
from  her  dessert  with  her  face  alight. 

"  Him  —  who  ?  "  asked  Rosamond  absently. 

"Mr.  Squire.  I  don't  think  there's  anybody  on 
earth  as  nice,  do  you,  Auntie  dear  ?  " 

66 1  certainly  do !  "  said  Rosamond.  It  was  no 
time  for  compliments  to  John  Squire,  who  was  just 
now  misjudging  her  cruelly.  "And  it  isn't  Mr. 
Squire.  It's  Mr.  Jerrold,  whom  I  like  ever  so  mucK 
better." 

"Do  you  want  to  be  all  alone  with  him,  the  way 
Avalene  Simmons  — " 

Rosamond  did  not  wait  for  comparisons. 

"  If  you  please,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "  We  have 
business  to  talk  over." 

"All  right,"  Allie  answered  meekly.  "But  I'd 
like  to  speak  to  him  first.  He's  very  nice,  too." 

So  when  Jerrold  came  Allie,  in  her  best  white  frock, 
greeted  him  with  her  best  curtsy,  and  excused  her 
self  graciously  before  he  had  time  to  sit  down.  Jer 
rold  did  not  notice  her  much.  He  was  watching  for 
Rosamond,  who  flashed  out  to  him  a  moment  later, 
as  fresh  as  if  she  had  done  nothing  all  day  but  em 
broider. 

"  Oh,  it  is  lovely  to  see  you !  "  she  cried.  "  I've 
had  such  a  hard-working  day ! " 


180  WHY  NOT? 

Jerrold  looked  tired,  but  he  brightened  at  the  sight 
of  her. 

"  Clients?  "  he  asked.     "  Was  it  a  good  day?  " 

Rosamond  looked  thoughtful.  "  It  was  a  —  a 
wage-earning  day,"  she  said.  "  Yes,  commercially 
speaking,  it  was  a  good  day.  A  lovely  client.  And 
just  think,  it  gave  me  three  hundred  dollars  for 
services  rendered!  Now  I  can  have  a  sun-dial,  and 
I  won't  have  to  feel  extravagant  about  buying  my 
canoe." 

"  That  is  splendid,"  said  Jerrold  heartily.  "  And 
to  think  I  can't  pay  you  anything,  when  I  owe  you 
everything ! " 

His  voice  was  regretfully  fervent,  and  Rosamond 
blushed  happily.  How  nice  it  was  to  have  somebody 
think  you  were  perfect ! 

"  You  know  how  glad  I  am  to  help  you  the  little 
I  can,"  she  answered  softly.  They  were  both  on  the 
porch  in  the  moonlight.  Moonlight  always  seemed 
to  Rosamond  to  be  a  part  of  Jerrold.  She  had  an 
irrational  feeling  that  he  ought  to  carry  it  around 
with  him  even  in  the  daytime.  He  did  not  look  nat 
ural  without  it.  He  was  leaning  against  the  door 
post,  looking  out  at  the  sky,  as  they  talked. 

"  It  seems  strange  to  think  of  hotels,  or  money, 
or  anything  else  sordid  in  the  world,  a  night  like 
this,"  said  he.  "  I  don't  feel  like  arranging  details, 
do  you?  I  feel  like  taking  you  off  up  the  lake  and 
singing  to  you  and  listening  to  you  —  ah,  come !" 


MR.  MATTISON  181 

"I  —  do  you  think  we  ought  to?"  she  asked  ir 
resolutely,  but  rising.  "  We  ought  to  work." 

Then  she  gave  a  little  jump,  for  the  telephone  rang. 
She  went  in  to  it. 

"Yes,"  Jerrold  heard  her  say.  "No.  ...  I 
meant  exactly  what  I  said.  .  .  .  Yes,  there  could  be 
every  excuse,  too !  ...  Well,  if  you  think  it  will  do 
you  any  good.  But  you  won't  get  a  word  out  of 
me.  I  think  friends  ought  to  trust  each  other.  .  .  . 
No.  To-night?  Certainly  not.  I'm  busy  with  a 
client,  and  besides,  you  might  forget  and  leave 
Martha  when  you  went  .  .  .  No!  I  told  you  so  — 
you  are  worse  than  Cousin  George.  .  .  ." 

She  flung  the  receiver  into  place  on  its  hook,  and 
ran  out  to  Jerrold  with  her  cheeks  scarlet. 

"  Come  on  down  to  the  canoe,  quick,"  she  said, 
"  anywhere  to  get  away  from  that  hateful  tele 
phone!" 

They  went  to  the  canoe,  lying  waiting  at  the  dock. 
Jerrold  sat  at  his  end  and  dipped  his  paddle  in 
lazily,  and  they  slid  unhurriedly  up  the  silvered  water. 
Rosamond,  on  her  cushions,  leaned  back  and  watched 
stars.  At  length  she  shut  her  eyes  and  was  merely 
happy  in  the  feel  of  the  cool  air  on  her  face,  and  the 
lap-lap  sound  of  the  water  against  the  canoe. 

Richard  began  to  sing  softly. 

"  Stars  of  the  summer  night, 
Far  down  yon  azure  deeps  .  .  ." 


183  WHY  NOT? 

"  I  love  that ! "  said  Rosamond  dreamily  when  he 
was  done,  and  took  up  the  song  under  her  breath. 

"  She  sleeps,  my  lady  sleeps  .  .  .  sleeps.  .  .  ." 

"  Do  you  mind,"  said  Jerrold  very  softly,  "  if  I 
think  of  you  that  way  —  my  lady  ?  " 

"Why  should  I  mind?"  said  Rosamond,  softly 
too. 

"  I  never  met  any  one  like  you,"  he  said  fervently. 
His  voice  was  a  little  louder,  and  it  broke  the  spell 
of  moonlight  and  singing  and  romance  for  a  moment. 
Rosamond  opened  her  eyes  and  sat  up  with  a  little 
jerk.  That  was  exactly  what  the  Squire  had  said, 
but  how  differently !  He  thought  she  was  worse  than 
anybody!  .  .  .  Why  worry  about  Squires,  though? 
She  lay  resolutely  back  and  watched  some  more  stars. 

"  I'm  so  happy  these  days,"  Jerrold  went  on,  "  that 
I  don't  believe  old  Jim  will  want  to  associate  with 
me  any  more." 

"Jim?"  asked  Rosamond,  more  to  show  a  polite 
interest  than  because  she  wanted  to  know. 

"  My  chum  at  college,"  explained  Jerrold,  coming 
down  to  earth  a  little,  and  beginning  to  paddle  more 
vigorously.  "Jim  Mattison.  Rich  as  all  get  out, 
and  it  makes  him  horribly  blue.  So  we  used  to  sit 
and  have  a  gorgeous  time  grouching  together,  he 
because  his  life  was  wrecked  by  stacks  of  coin,  and 
I  because  Aunt  Genevieve  hadn't  come  across. 


MR.  MATTISON  183 

Though  I  thought  she  would,  then,  you  know,  onlj 
I  wanted  the  money  on  the  spot." 

"  Why  didn't  he  relieve  himself  of  some  of  his 
money  by  passing  it  over  to  you?  "  inquired  Rosa 
mond,  to  whom  this  seemed  a  very  simple  solution. 
"  Then  you'd  both  have  been  happy." 

"  That  wouldn't  have  been  possible,"  explained 
Jerrold.  "  You  see,  poor  old  Jim  had  the  idea  that 
he  wasn't  attractive  enough  to  be  liked  on  account 
of  himself;  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  a  lot  of  the  fellows 
did  love  him  for  his  cash  alone.  And  he  doesn't  act 
that  way,  but  he  sees  through  things  like  a  micro 
scope  —  sometimes  sees  a  lot  that  isn't  there.  You 
do,  you  know,  if  you  see  too  much,  that  is.  So  if  I 
touched  him  for  a  cent  he'd  never  trust  me  again. 
And  I  tell  you,  the  poor  old  fellow  needs  believing  in 
a  friend  that  doesn't  want  money  out  of  him,  a  lot 
more  than  I  need  money  for  my  engine.  He'd  give 
it  to  me  like  a  shot  if  I  said  a  word.  Indeed,  he's 
offered.  But  he'd  never  take  any  comfort  in  liking 
me  again.  See?  " 

"  I  think  I  do,"  she  said,  "  but  he's  certainly  curi 
ous.  I'd  like  to  see  him.  Why,  you  might  bring 
him  over.  Perhaps  I  could  help  him  —  make  him 
happier,  I  mean." 

But  Jerrold  didn't  seem  to  take  kindly  to  the  idea 
of  introducing  Rosamond  to  other  men. 

"  Oh,   you   wouldn't  like   him,"   he    said   hastily. 


18*  WHY  NOT? 

"  He  —  you  see,  he  —  well  —  he  thinks  girls  want 
to  marry  him  for  his  money." 

"The  brute!"  flared  Rosamond. 

"  Well,"  Jerrold  apologised,  "  a  lot  have,  you 
see." 

"I'll  explain  to  him  at  the  start  that  I  don't," 
said  Rosamond,  calming  down. 

But  Jerrold  continued  to  produce  excuses  for  not 
producing  his  friend,  till  Rosamond  said  no  more. 

"  All  right,"  she  gave  in.  "  I'm  busy  anyway. 
But  tell  me  more  about  him.  How  does  he  forget  his 
sorrows?  Athletics,  or  writing  poetry,  or  what? 
Lonesome  people  always  have  a  hobby." 

"  Why,  the  poor  old  bum's  taken  to  collecting  what 
he  calls  Americana,"  said  Jerrold  unsuspiciously. 
"  Think  of  it,  at  his  age !  " 

"  Americana  ?  "  said  Rosamond,  to  whom  the  word 
had  a  familiar  sound. 

"  Everything  that  was  printed  in  or  about  America 
before  Washington  crossed  the  Delaware,  or  Colum 
bus  hocked  the  jewels,  I  forget  which,"  Jerrold  elu 
cidated.  "  Pamphlets  and  pictures  —  awful  things. 
I  read  a  pamphlet  once.  It  was  by  a  French  count, 
and  he'd  dined  with  Benjamin  Franklin  when  he  was 
over  in  France  negotiating  for  America.  He  told 
all  about  old  Ben's  table-manners,  and  said  he  ate 
with  his  knife.  None  of  the  count's  business  if  he 
did." 


MR.  MATTISON    ,  185 

"  That  count  was  probably  guillotined  —  also  with 
a  knife,"  Rosamond  reminded  him.  "  So  you  might 
as  well  forgive  him.  Does  your  friend  hunt  up  his 
Americana  in  a  big  crumbly  brown-leather  cata 
logue?" 

"  I  think  so,"  Jerrold  answered  indifferently,  and 
began  to  quote  poetry  about  being  on  the  water  at 
night. 

Rosamond  said  no  more.  But  her  fertile  mind  had 
remembered  the  existence  of  that  adored  picture  of 
Grand-Uncle  Alvin's,  which  portrayed  two  fat  black 
vessels  shooting  red  fire  at  each  other.  She  was  as 
nearly  sure  as  possible  that  it  was  the  very  best 
Americana. 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  evening  they  spent  on  the 
lake  together,  and  quite  late  when  they  returned. 
And  Rosamond  Gilbert  had  certainly  had  a  hard 
day.  Nevertheless  when  she  got  back  she  sat  down 
at  her  little  desk,  and  straightway  wrote  a  note  to 
the  misanthropic  Mr.  James  Mattison. 

"  Mr.  Mattison. 
"Dear  Sir  (it  began): 

"I  have  a  coloured  picture  of  the  Constitution 
fighting  the  Guerriere,  which  my  late  grand-uncle,  a 
collector  of  Americana,  prized  highly.  I  wish  to 
dispose  of  it,  owing  to  financial  difficulties.  Would 
be  glad  to  have  you  call  and  look  at  it,  as  I  under- 


186  WHY  NOT? 

stand  you  are  an  expert,  and  might  be  able  to  give 
me  an  idea  of  its  possible  value. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  A.  R.  GILBERT." 

She  addressed  it  in  Jerrold's  care,  in  a  back-hand 
that  she  hoped  he  wouldn't  recognise.  Then  she  went 
to  bed. 

Next  morning  she  took  down  two  beloved  Japanese 
prints  of  swirly  ladies  and  kinky  rivers,  also  her 
favourite  "  Love  Among  the  Ruins,"  and  hung  the 
Americana  picture  in  solitary  splendour  where  they 
had  been.  Then  she  lay  back  and  watched,  spider- 
like,  for  her  fly.  There  was  little  else  to  do,  for, 
after  being  so  exciting,  things  dropped  with  a  sudden 
lull  that  left  Rosamond  nothing  to  do  but  negotiate 
for  a  canoe,  and  pet  Allie  and  Darling. 

In  due  course  of  time  the  fly  walked  in. 

"  Is  Mr.  Gilbert  at  home  ?  "  said  he  to  Rosamond, 
moving  his  cane  nervously. 

He  did  not  start  back  with  an  expression  of  horror 
at  having  the  door  opened  for  him  by  a  pretty  girl, 
as  Rosamond  had  expected  would  be  the  case.  He 
merely  looked  bored,  but  spoke  as  politely  as  pos 
sible.  He  wasn't  plain,  either:  merely  heavily 
freckled  and  rather  anxious-looking. 

"I'm  Mr.  Gilbert,"  Rosamond  admitted,  deciding 
to  get  the  worst  over  at  once.  "  That  is,  there  isn't 
any  Mr.  Gilbert.  If  you  are  Mr.  Mattison,  I'm  the 


MR.  MATTISON  187 

one  that  wrote  to  you.  I  really  have  an  —  some  — 
a  —  Americana.  It's  hanging  right  up  inside." 

If  Mr.  Mattison  had  been  about  to  bolt,  which  Ros 
amond  did  not  believe,  her  words  restrained  him.  He 
entered  straightway,  and  made  directly  for  the  Con 
stitution,  doing  red  things  to  its  enemy  in  the  best 
possible  light. 

"  Is  this  it  ?  "  he  asked,  laying  his  hat  and  cane 
very  tidily  on  a  chair.  "  A  very  fine  specimen  — -, 
not  foxed  — " 

His  words  drifted  into  a  murmur  of  ecstasy.  Ros 
amond  knew  he  would.  At  least,  his  symptoms  so 
far  were  exactly  those  of  Grand-Uncle  Alvin's  old 
gentlemen.  She  sat  down  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  by  a  little  table  on  which  a  drop  light  stood, 
and  went  on  with  her  sewing.  It  was  the  skirt,  long- 
delayed,  to  her  fortune-telling  costume.  It  was  gay, 
but  she  herself  was  not,  outwardly.  She  was  clad, 
as  she  had  been  every  afternoon  since  she  had  written 
to  Mattison,  in  a  neat  grey  muslin  with  a  white  collar, 
and  a  little  white  sewing-apron  tied  over  it.  Her 
dark  curls  were  pulled  as  straight  back  as  they  would 
go,  and  altogether  she  looked  remarkably  harmless. 
She  had  tried  hard  to. 

"Do  you  like  the  picture?"  she  asked  guilelessly 
when  he  had  looked  at  it  from  every  angle,  and  finally 
asked  permission  to  remove  it  from  the  frame  for  a 
few  moments. 

He  had  recovered  from  his  first  excitement. 


188  WHY  NOT? 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  cautiously.  "  Have  you 
authority  to  dispose  of  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  threading  her  needle.  "  But 
there's  no  hurry  about  that.  We  might  talk  a  little 
while  first." 

Mr.  Mattison,  she  was  afraid,  looked  worried. 
But  she  went  on. 

"  I  can't  live  on  the  sale  of  these  things  alone," 
she  said,  "  it  is  not  a  constant  enough  thing.  So  I 
have  taken  up  a  profession  that  I  am  really  succeed 
ing  at  awfully  well." 

He  looked  as  if  he  wondered  why  a  totally  strange 
girl  in  a  white  apron  was  telling  him  her  life-history. 
But  he  looked  more  interested  at  her  next  words. 

"Your  friend  Mr.  Jerrold  is  one  of  my  clients," 
she  said. 

"You  do  plain  sewing?"  he  asked  politely.  "I 
should  be  glad  to  assist  you,  but  — " 

"  I  never  do  any  plain  sewing,"  said  Rosamond, 
dimpling.  "  It's  something  you  never  heard  of.  I 
help  people  to  get  the  things  they  want.  At  least, 
I  tell  them  how  they  can  get  them  if  they  want  them 
badly  enough.  I  really  do  help." 

Mr.  Mattison  balanced  his  cane  and  looked  dis 
trustful. 

She  laughed.  "  It's  only  a  sort  of  game,"  she 
added.  "  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  it.  You  needn't 
even  look  at  the  picture  if  you  don't  want  to.  But 
shouldn't  you  like  to  hear  ?  " 


MR.  MATTISON  189 

He  was  more  serious  by  this  time. 

"  Yes,  I  should,"  he  said,  and  listened. 

"  It's  this  way,"  she  began,  laying  her  needle  down. 
66  You  know,  there  are  lots  of  things  people  think  you 
ought  to  want  to  do.  But  there  are  things,  too,  that 
nobody  knows  about,  that  you  really  want  to  do 
more." 

"  Why,  how  did  you  know  that  ?  "  asked  Mattison, 
as  if  it  had  slipped  out  before  he  thought. 

"  Because  I'm  like  that,  and  so's  everybody,"  said 
she.  "  It's  very  simple  to  know  things  about  people 
if  you're  interested  in  them,  and  I  am.  People  are 
the  nicest  thing  on  earth.  And  you  know  it's  true. 
There's  something,  I'm  sure,  that  you'd  like  to  do 
or  be  yourself  —  something  that  would  make  you  lots 
happier  than  you  are,  and  that  you  think  you  can't 
do.  Isn't  there?" 

Mattison  looked  at  her  carefully.  But  to  the  most 
watchful  eyes  there  was  nothing  to  see  in  Rosamond 
but  honesty  and  gaiety,  and  an  unconquerable  child- 
likeness.  You  could  go  out  with  her,  and  come 
nearer  to  believing  in  fairies  than  with  most  peo 
ple. 

"  It's  silly,"  he  said  at  length,  colouring  up  into 
his  sandy  hair. 

"  Well,  suppose  it  does  seem  so,"  she  encouraged 
him  soothingly,  "  that  doesn't  make  you  want  it  any 
less.  And  a  thing  you  want  so  badly  can't  be  really 
silly,  to  you." 


190  WHY  NOT? 

It  is  hard  not  to  confide  in  people  who  seem  to 
understand  you  very,  very  well,  and  are  sympathetic. 

"  Well,"  he  said  desperately,  "  I've  always  wanted 
to  go  off  somewhere  into  a  little  country  village,  and 
own  a  little  store  of  some  kind  there,  and  have  people 
there  like  me  and  look  up  to  me,  just  because  I  was 
me  — r  you  know  what  I  mean  ?  " 

Rosamond  did.  What  Mr.  Mattison  wanted  was 
not  a  particularly  new  thing.  He  wanted  people  to 
love  him  for  himself.  He'd  never  had  a  chance  at 
it,  or  thought  he  never  had. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  hard  for  the  right  person  to  do, 
either,"  she  thought.  "He'd  be  very  nice  if  you 
knew  him." 

"  Of  course.  I  understand  perfectly,  and  it  isn't 
silly  at  all,"  she  said  warmly.  "  And  will  you  let  me 
tell  you  what  I'd  do  if  I  were  you  ?  " 

Mattison  was  under  Rosamond's  spell  already. 

"  Yes,  please,"  he  answered  eagerly. 

"  Go  and  do  it.  Never  mind  if  you  do  feel  silly. 
Go  buy  your  nice  little  village  store,  and  settle  down 
there,  and  stay  till  you're  tired  of  it.  Can  you  think 
of  any  reason  why  not  ?  " 

Mr.  Mattison  looked  at  the  wall  that  faced  him, 
but  he  was  not  thinking,  now,  of  the  Americana  pic 
ture. 

"  By  Jove,  there  isn't  any  reason  why  not ! "  he 
said,  seeing  a  light. 

"  None,"  said  she. 


MR.  MATTISON  191 

"  And  the  girls  there  aren't  tricky  or  scheming," 
he  mused.  "  Just  nice,  innocent,  sweet  country 
girls." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Rosamond.  "  I  am  sure  there 
are  splendid  ones." 

Mr.  Mattison  blushed.  Rosamond  was  coming  a 
little  too  close  to  his  thoughts  for  comfort. 

"Well,  it  would  be  a  rest,  anyway,"  he  said. 
"  Thank  you,  Miss  Gilbert.  You  —  you  won't  say 
anything  to  any  one,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  not,"  Rosamond  said.  Her 
heart  began  to  beat  faster  with  excitement,  as  she 
took  a  final  plunge. 

"  There's  a  little  village  about  eight  miles  from 
here,  called  Green's  Corners,"  she  said.  "  You  can 
get  shooting  and  fishing  there,  and  peace.  There 
are  lots  of  nice  country  people  there,  and  you  could 
probably  buy  any  store  you  wanted  to  if  you  had 
enough  cash  in  hand." 

"  Did  you  say  near  ?  "  said  Mattison. 

"  Eight  miles,"  she  repeated.  He  seemed  favour 
ably  impressed  by  the  idea,  she  noted.  She  went  on 
praising  it  till  any  one  would  have  thought  that  it 
had  at  least  been  the  home  of  her  ancestors  for  ten 
generations.  Mattison  stood  up  and  listened  on  his 
feet,  with  an  interested  expression  still  on  his  face. 
When  she  had  exhausted  her  praise  of  Green's 
Corners  Rosamond  stopped,  a  little  apprehensively, 
to  hear  what  he  would  say  about  it  all. 


192  WHY  NOT? 

"  It  sounds  like  a  good  place,"  he  remarked  finally. 
**  I'll  try  it,  anyway,  for  a  week  or  so." 

He  would  go  there  1  The  little  imp  of  mischief  who 
shared  quarters  with  the  large  spirit  of  benevo 
lence  in  Rosamond's  heart  gave  a  silent  yelp  of 

joy. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  you  liked  it  fairly 
well,"  Rosamond  said  guardedly  and  demurely,  aloud. 

"  Well,  perhaps,"  said  Mattison,  seeming  not  to 
want  to  appear  too  hopeful.  He  shook  hands  with 
her,  and  turned  to  go.  He  had  forgotten  all  about 
the  picture,  and  so  had  she. 

As  he  neared  the  door  somebody  else  knocked  at 
it,  hard. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Rosamond,  and  the  Squire's  tall 
figure  blocked  up  most  of  the  doorway. 

He  was  not  a  startlingly  new  visitor.  In  fact,  it 
was  the  third  time  in  three  days  that  he  had  come  to 
see  Rosamond;  each  time  with  an  added  firmness  of 
manner  and  fixity  of  purpose.  And  each  time  she 
had  been  quite  as  firm  with  him,  in  her  refusal  to  tell 
him  why  she  had  done  what  she  had  done. 

She  introduced  him  to  Mr.  Mattison.  Neither 
man  was  dazzlingly  effusive.  Then  Mr.  Mattison 
went,  and  Mr.  Squire  stayed,  continuing  to  stand  in 
the  centre  of  the  room.  As  he  was  well  over  six 
feet  and  built  in  proportion,  also  as  he  had  dark; 
clothes  on,  and  a  darker  expression,  the  effect  was 
such  as  to  make  any  one  shiver  who  had  any  weight 


MR.  MATTISON  193 

an  her  conscience.  Rosamond,  sweetly  expectant, 
sat  down  again  by  the  little  table. 

66  Do  sit  down,  Mr.  Squire,"  she  begged  courte 
ously.  "A  lovely  evening,  isn't  it?  Won't  you 
have  a  chair?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  he. 

There  was  a  certain  amount  of  nervous  tension  in 
the  air,  and  Rosamond  giggled. 

"  Take  two  chairs,"  she  said  frivolously.  "  Oh, 
there!  Mr.  Mattison  never  said  a  word  about  the 
picture ! " 

"  Mr.  Mattison,  I  infer,  is  a  client  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Squire. 

"  He  is,"  said  Rosamond  as  stonily  as  she  could 
manage. 

"  Miss  Rosamond,"  spoke  John  Squire  suddenly, 
taking  a  hasty  step  toward  her,  "  I'm  worried  to 
death  about  you !  " 

"  I  suppose  you  want  me  to  have  Martha  come  and 
live  with  me,"  she  said  mutinously,  for  they  had  gone 
over  all  that  before. 

"  At  least  she  would  be  a  help  to  you,"  he  said. 
"  Indeed  you  ought  not  — " 

"  You  weren't  worried  like  this  before,"  said  Ros 
amond,  bending  closer  over  the  scarlet  finery  in  her 
lap,  so  that  the  hurt  tears  should  not  show  in  her 
eyes.  "  It's  that  you  don't  trust  me,  any  longer. 
Please  don't  talk  any  more  about  it.  You  only  tor 
ment  me." 


194  WHY  NOT? 

"  But,  Miss  Rosamond  — "  he  pleaded.  He  never 
finished  that  sentence. 

It  was  evidently  destined  to  be  Rosamond's  evening 
for  receiving.  For,  without  having  telephoned, 
trampled,  or  in  any  other  way  advertised  his  pres 
ence,  Richard  Jerrold  appeared  at  the  doorway. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said  blithely,  sweeping  his  hat 
from  his  handsome  head. 

"  Oh,  do  come  in ! "  cried  Rosamond  gladly. 
"You  remember  Mr.  Squire,  don't  you?  The  one 
I  borrowed  Martha  from  for  you.  How  is  every 
thing  going  on  down  there  ?  " 

"  Splendidly,"  he  answered  eagerly.  "  I've  got 
bunches  and  bunches  of  applications.  Got  'em  in 
every  pocket.  I  brought  them  up  to  show  you. 
Martha's  sister  is  coming  to-morrow.  Her  name's 
Anna  Woolman,  and  I'm  to  call  her  Mrs.  I'm  cer 
tainly  awfully  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Squire,  for  letting 
me  have  the  benefit  of  Martha's  experience,  and  get 
ting  her  sister  through  her." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Squire.  "Good-night, 
Miss  Rosamond.  I  won't  keep  you  from  your  work 
any  longer.  Good-night,  Mr.  Jerrold." 

He  walked  out. 

"  I'm  goin',  too,"  announced  Allie,  emerging  from 
the  kitchen,  followed  by  her  shadow,  the  Livonian 
bloodhound.  They  had  commuted  his  name  and  title 
to  Livy  by  now,  and  he  was  quite  a  dignified  and 
well-liking  dog.  The  pair  flew  down  the  steps  after 


MR.  MATTISON  195 

Mr.  Squire,  and  they  saw  Allie  catch  his  hand  and 
swing  it.  He  bent  down  to  smile  at  her  and  speak 
to  her  in  a  friendly  fashion. 

"  Nice  chap,"  said  Jerrold.  "  Why,  he's  not  old 
a  bit.  You  always  gave  me  the  impression  that  he 
was." 

"  I  told  you  he  wasn't,"  said  Rosamond,  laughing. 
"  But  he  always  treats  me  as  if  I  were  ten  and  he  a 
thousand.  After  you  get  over  being  really  young 
I  don't  suppose  a  few  years  more  or  less  matter,  do 
you?  " 

"  I  suppose  not,"  he  answered. 

"  Have  you  the  applications  ?  "  asked  Rosamond. 

"  Why,  yes !  "  he  said.  "  I  told  you.  Have  them 
in  all  my  pockets.  I  brought  paper,  too.  I  thought 
we  might  answer  them  together." 

He  laid  piles  of  paper  on  the  little  table,  and  they 
sat  on  each  side  of  it,  working  soberly  for  awhile 
beside  the  light. 

Rosamond  looked  up,  presently,  at  his  light-gilded 
head,  bent  above  the  letters,  and  felt  a  pleased  and 
placid  sense  of  possession.  It  was  all  working  out 
so  beautifully.  Surely  he  would  succeed  with  the 
Elephant.  Already  Martha's  sister's  letters  had 
breathed  a  comforting  spirit  of  know-how  into  them, 
already  the  corps  of  professional  good-time-givers 
had  been  culled  from  the  flower  of  Richard's  class. 
All  the  necessary  repairs  had  been  made,  the  note  had 
been  taken  out  of  bank,  payable  in  the  height  of  the 


196  WHY  NOT? 

season,  and  —  judging  by  the  piles  of  applications 

—  there  would  be  people  to  fill  the  hotel  to  over 
flowing.     Martha's  sister,  when  she  came,  was  to  en 
gage   the   servants.     And  Rosamond  had  succeeded 
in  filling  Richard  with  something  of  her  own  spirit 

—  that  it  was  a  joyous  young  lark  to  run  a  hotel. 
And  when  the  summer  was  over,  thought  Rosa 
mond,  forgetting  that  Mrs.  J.  Simonton  desired  room 
and  board  for  herself  and  three  adults  with  pug, 
happy  things  would  go  on  happening.     She  leaned 
back,  away  from  the  letters,  and  began  making  pic 
tures  to  herself.     After  the  hotel-work  and  fortune- 
telling  was  all  over,  Richard  would  push  his  inven 
tion.     After  it  was  all  pushed  —  Rosamond  had  a 
vision  of  one  mighty  shove  that  would  send  it  flying 
rotarily  down  the  aisles  of  Time  —  there  would  be 
lots  of  golden,  beautiful  Fall,  wherein  she  and  Richard 
would  ride  off  on  a  steed  apiece.     And  Richard  would 
be  knightly  and  adoring,  and  she  would  be  his  liege 
lady.     And  when   John   Squire  came  over,  all   six- 
feet-two-and-broad-in-proportion    of    him,    and    ob 
jected  to  things,  she  would  wave  her  hand  in  the 
direction  of  Richard.     And  she  would  say  (or  what 
amounted  to  it) : 

"  Sir,  there  rides  my  true  knight  and  defender. 
Please  discuss  such  little  matters  with  him." 

But  ...  if  she  went  riding  off  on  the  milkwhite 
steed  with  Richard  probably  Mr.  Squire  wouldn't  be 


MR.  MATTISON  197 

along  to  object  to  things!     She  laughed  out  at  the 
idea  of  it  all,  and  Richard  looked  up  and  smiled. 

"  What  was  it  —  a  funny  letter  ?  "  he  asked. 

Rosamond  flushed  a  little  and  laughed  a  little. 

"  Only  a  funny  idea,"  she  answered  demurely. 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

THE  BEAUTIES  OF  NATUBE 

DESPITE  her  slight  feud  with  Mr.  Squire,  Rosa 
mond  awoke  in  the  freshness  of  the  next  morn 
ing  to  a  sense  of  duty  well  done.     And  the  first 
duly   brought  over  to  her  by  one  of  Mr.   Squire's 
men,  added  very  much  to  the  feeling. 

"  I  have  gone  to  Green's  Corners,"  said  a  specii 
delivery  letter  of  much  terseness  from  Mr.  Mattisoi 
"  Country  store  can  be  bought.  Thanks.  Che( 
follows." 

Rosamond  wondered,  but  not  with  much  anxiety, 
about  the  check.     Sydney's  three  hundred  was 
slumbering  almost  intact  at  the  bank,  and  there  wi 
the  fortune-telling  yet  to  be  started.     A  nice  litt] 
red  canoe  was  bobbing  up  and  down  at  her  dock, 
her  own.     Everything  was  almost  all  right. 

She  felt  happier,  naturally,  over  her  success  as 
Realiser  of  Dreams  than  as  a  collector  of  checl 
They  were  only  a  side-issue.  But  — 

"  Three  dreams  well  on  the  way ! "  she  said  to  hei 
self  proudly,  "  and  all  my  long,  lovely  summer  t< 
keep  on  doing  it  in !  " 

Around  sunset,  as  she  sat  in  the  swing-seat,  si 
198 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  NATURE         199 

wondered  as  she  swayed  why  Mr.  Squire  hadn't  been 
over  to  make  his  daily  protest.  They  were  soften 
ing  as  time  went  on,  for  Rosamond  was  a  person  whom 
was  very  hard  to  be  angry  with.  She  wondered,  too, 
why  he  stayed  so  persistently  in  her  mind.  He 
wouldn't  get  out  of  it,  either.  It  wasn't  that  she 
felt  remorseful  toward  him,  because  she  didn't.  Any 
remorse  was  due  from  the  other  party  to  the  dis 
agreement.  It  was  simply  that  he  was  —  well,  he 
was  on  her  mind,  and  that  was  all  there  was  about 
it!  And  she  looked  down  the  path  again  for  the 
daily  protest  and  felt  a  little  impatient. 

"  You  get  used  to  even  quarrelling,"  she  declared 
to  herself  defensively.  Though,  again,  she  didn't 
know  just  why  it  was  necessary  to  defend  herself  to 
herself. 

And  she  saw  a  man's  hat  rising  above  the  slope  of 
the  path,  landward,  a  hat  with  black  hair  under  it, 
and  sat  up  gaily.  But  it  was  only  Sydney  Browne, 
striding  up,  tanned  and  cheerful  and  whistling  out 
rageously  as  she  came.  She  waved  her  hat  as  she 
came  closer. 

"  Hello,  Rosamond !  "  she  called.  "  I  came  to  re 
port  progress,  as  I  promised." 

She  dropped  on  the  top  step  and  continued  to  look 
exceedingly  happy. 

"  Do  tell  me  all  about  it ! "  implored  Rosamond. 

Sydney  leaned  back  against  a  post,,  embraced  one 
khaki  knee,  and  proceeded  to  tell  her  tale. 


200  WHY  NOT? 

"  I  didn't  start  out  camping  right  away,"  she  be 
gan. 

"  I  knew  you  wouldn't,"  Rosamond  answered. 

"  No,"  nodded  Sydney.  "  I  bought  a  little  tent 
and  rubber  blankets  and  so  forth  that  day  in  the  city, 
you  know,  but  they  didn't  get  there  for  some  days. 
So  I  took  a  room  over  a  little  country  store. —  What's 
the  matter?  "  for  Rosamond  had  uttered  a  smothered 
squeal. 

"  Nothing,  nothing  at  all,"  answered  Rosamond 
hurriedly,  "  do  go  on !  " 

"  It  was  rather  a  nice  room,  and  I  knew  my  step 
mother  wasn't  going  to  trot  in  and  kiss  me  good 
night  and  try  to  find  out  what  was  in  the  last  letters 
I'd  received,  so  I  was  awfully  happy  —  for  one  week 
only,  as  the  stock  companies  say.  Because  just  as 
I'd  finally  decided  to  give  up  the  camping-out  idea 
altogether,  and  spend  my  days  in  the  woods,  along 
had  to  come  a  brute  of  a  young  man  and  buy  the 
whole  store,  my  room  and  all.  At  least,  I  felt  as 
if  he  was  a  brute  then.  You  see,  I  wasn't  over 
that  horrid  *  he's-a-man^now-look-pleasant,*  feeling. 
But  he  really  wasn't  a  brute  at  all." 

She  leaned  back  again  and  looked  pleasantly 
reminiscent. 

"  But  his  name ! "  said  Rosamond  feverishly. 
"  Oh,  his  name,  Sydney  dear!  " 

"  His  name  ? "  repeated  Sydney  indifferently. 
"  Oh,  Mattison,  or  something  of  the  sort." 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  NATURE         201 

"  Glory  be ! "  breathed  Rosamond  to  herself. 
"Oh,  then  he  took  it!" 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  took  it,"  Sydney  answered  un 
suspiciously.  "  But  he  didn't  put  me  out."  She 
smiled  to  herself  again  softly.  "  He  said  I  seemed 
like  a  nice  young  chap,  and  would  I  like  to  keep  my 
room?  And  I  said  I  would.  But  I'm  really  looking 
after  the  house  for  him  now.  I  got  it  quite  decently 
clean.  .  .  .  Rosamond,  there's  nothing  to  being  a  girl, 
nothing  at  all !  What's  a  little  back  hair,  or  a  few 
evening  gowns?  I've  got  a  chum,  a  real  friend,  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life.  Splendid,  honest  fellow. 
I  sit  out  on  the  store  porch  and  talk  to  him,  nights, 
or  I  keep  quiet  if  I  want  to.  I  don't  have  to  be 
charming.  I  don't  have  to  powder  my  nose.  .  .  . 
He's  had  a  lonely  sort  of  life,  poor  boy.  He's  told 
me  about  it  a  little  already,  one  night  when  we  were 
out  looking  for  squirrels  by  moonlight." 

"  Do  squirrels  bite  better  by  moonlight  ?  "  inquired 
Rosamond,  as  she  thought  sympathetically,  "  I 
thought  they  went  to  bed." 

But  her  innocent  question  apparently  jerked  Syd 
ney  back  from  a  pleasant  muse,  for  she  frowned. 

"  They  don't  bite,"  she  explained  shortly.  "  You 
shoot  'em." 

"  Oh,  you  shot  them?  "  asked  Rosamond,  still  at 
sea. 

"  No,  we  didn't,"  Sydney  owned  absently,  a  dreamy 
light  still  in  her  eyes.  "  He  sat  on  a  stump  and  I 


202  WHY  NOT? 

sat  on  the  ground,  and  he  told  me  about  things.  .  .  . 
Oh,  Rosamond,  he's  a  very  unusual  man.  I  didn't 
think  there  were  any  men  like  that  any  more.  .  .  . 
And  he  does  need  looking  after  so ! " 

Rosamond  gave  a  subdued  little  chuckle. 

"Does  he  run  the  store   all  right?"   she  asked. 

66  Yes  —  no  —  I  guess  so,"  said  Sydney  doubt 
fully,  as  if  that  were  a  matter  she  had  not  consid 
ered.  "  I  think  the  clerk  must  mostly,  though,  now 
I  come  to  think  of  it,  because  Jim  and  I  spend  most 
of  our  time  in  the  woods.  Talk  about  love,"  said 
Sydney  scornfully,  "  it's  nothmg  to  the  friendship 
that  can  be  between  man  and  man ! "  She  rose. 
"  Well,  I  must  be  getting  back,"  she  concluded 
briskly.  "  Thanks  awfully,  Rosamond." 

"  You're  ever  so  welcome,"  said  Rosamond,  "  and 
any  time  you  want  girl-clothes,  and  your  hair,  I  have 
everything  ready  for  you,  including  a  very  nice  switch 
I  had  made  up.  You  can  change  at  a  moment's  no 
tice." 

"  Rats  1 "  said  Sydney  appropriately,  kissed  Ros 
amond  carelessly,  and  tramped  off  whistling. 

Rosamond  dropped  down  where  Sydney  had  been, 
and  began  to  laugh.  She  was  still  laughing  to  her 
self  in  a  subdued  way  when  she  felt  a  presence  above 
her,  and  looked  up  to  see  John  Squire,  who  seemed 
threatened  with  a  recurrence  of  his  worst  variety  of 
temper.  She  expected  a  storm,  but  he  said  very 
little.  But  what  there  was  of  it  was  to  the  point. 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  NATURE 

"  I  won't  trouble  you  for  an  explanation  this  time," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  won't  trouble  you  at  all 
after  this,  indeed." 

That  was  absolutely  all.  After  that  he  turned 
and  went  back  where  he  had  come  from. 

They  were  neat,  well-rounded  sentences,  doubtless. 
But  they  hurt.  They  hurt  horribly.  All  the  fun 
and  the  playtime  and  the  summerness  and  self  confi 
dence  dropped  out  of  everything  with  a  thud.  A 
chilly,  end-of-the-world  feeling  came  shiveringly  up 
to  surround  Rosamond  in  their  place.  And  she 
couldn't  see  why.  Yet  .  .  .  No  more  Squire,  dom 
ineering  and  helping  and  being  put  in  his  place,  and 
acting  as  a  protesting  guardian  angel!  Just  peace 
and  freedom  and.  being  ignored.  It  ought  to  have 
been  pleasant.  ...  It  was  the  most  unpleasant  sensa 
tion  freedom-loving  Rosamond  had  ever  known  in  her 
life.  She  sat  up  with  a  light  of  battle  in  her  eye. 

"  Just  for  that,"  she  said,  "  just  for  that,  I'll  go 
down  to  Dick  Jerrold's  hotel  this  minute  and  read 
palms.  I'll  wear  Oriental  robes  and  a  black  mask  — 
I'll  wear  a  dressing-sack  if  necessary ! " 

And,  as  if  her  words  had  been  an  incantation  and 
he  the  Slave  of  the  Lamp,  up  the  path  came  Jerrold, 
smiling  and  kind,  as  he  always  did  when  she  most 
hated  John  Squire. 

"  Want  to  come  out  in  my  canoe  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I 
have  a  lot  of  things  to  consult  you  about." 

"  I  haven't  had  supper,"  began  Rosamond  doubt- 


204  WHY  NOT? 

fully.  She  didn't  want  to  go  out  with  Dick.  She 
wanted  to  go  to  her  own  room  and  take  time  to  feel 
wronged, 

"Haven't  had  supper?  Good!"  said  Dick  buoy 
antly.  "  We'll  have  it  up  at  Farley's  under  the  trees, 
and  celebrate.  That's  an  awfully  good  little  dog 
you  have  there,"  he  added,  for  Darling  had  not  hap 
pened  to  be  present  when  he  had  been  with  Rosamond 
lately.  "  Where'd  you  pick  him  up  —  another  of 
the  Princess  Alicia's  acquisitions  ?  " 

He  grinned,  for  the  tale  of  Allie  and  her  Livonian 
bloodhound  had  been  too  good  to  keep,  and  Rosa 
mond  had  passed  it  on  to  him.  The  bloodhound  him 
self,  by  the  way,  was  a  treasure-trove  except  for  his 
violent  appetite.  He  was  a  good  watch-dog,  had 
blameless  manners,  and  distinguished  as  well  between 
shabby  people  who  ought  to  be  bitten  and  well-dressed 
ones  to  be  wagged  at,  as  the  most  snobbish  kennel- 
trained  animal  of  pedigree.  He  also  looked  after 
Allie  and  Rosamond  like  a  father. 

Rosamond  picked  up  the  silky  little  spaniel  and 
held  him  to  her  cheek  as  she  replied  reluctantly, — 

"Darling  was  a  present  from  Mr.  Squire  in  the 
dear  dead  days  when  he  almost  approved  of  me.  He 
was  a  consolation  prize  for  my  being  so  good  about 
the  bloodhound,  I  think." 

"You  really  oughtn't  to  be  so  hard  on  Squire," 
said  Richard  as  he  went  down  the  lane  with  her,  after 
the  irritating  fashion  man  has  of  standing  up  for 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  NATURE         205 

man.  Rosamond  did  not  answer  directly.  She 
wished  he'd  let  her  forget  her  failure  to  get  on  with 
John  Squire.  A  professional  realiser  of  dreams  ought 
surely  to  be  able  to  realise  the  ideal  of  living  at 
peace  with  her  neighbours. 

"What's  happening  down  at  the  Mammoth?  "  she 
inquired  as  they  got  into  Richard's  canoe. 

Richard  laughed  and  dipped  his  paddle  deeper. 

"I  don't  know  why  I'm  able  to  smile,"  he  said. 
"  Just  because  I'm  in  your  cheerful  presence,  I  ex 
pect.  What's  happening?  Everything  that  can. 
This  whole  hard-working  day  men  have  been  trying 
to  sell  me  things.  This  morning  there  came  a  man 
with  a  patent  fire  extinguisher,  and  three  with  canned 
foods,  and  one  with  a  new  temperance  drink  that 
tasted  like  burnt  crusts,  and  one  to  sell  paper  frills 
for  lamb  chops,  and  another  one  with  a  patent  per 
fume  that  you  squirt  in  the  corners  after  a  guest 
leaves,  so  the  maids  needn't  clean  the  room — " 

"  Richard  Jerrold !     Not  really!  " 

"  Absolutely  really,"  Richard  answered  resignedly. 
"It  was  Jockey  Club  and  very,  very  strong.  He 
said  it  killed  germs,  too.  I  don't  doubt  that.  It 
would  make  me  commit  suicide  if  I  were  a  germ  — 
I'd  die  of  horror.  The  lamb-chop-frill  man  was  the 
worst,  though.  He  insisted  that  guests  never  ate 
chops  unless  they  had  frills  on.  He  intimated  that 
they  gave  their  chops  one  haughty  look,  and  if  they 
—  the  chops,  I  mean  —  weren't  fully  clad,  they  rose 


WHY  NOT? 

and  called  for  their  bills  and  never  came  back  any 
more." 

"  What  nonsense,"  said  Rosamond  practically. 
"  They  don't  demand  costumed  lamb  chops,  not  at 
twelve  a  week  and  up." 

"  I  wish  it  were  nonsense,"  admitted  Richard  de 
jectedly,  "  but  the  fact  of  the  matter  was,  that  man 
got  me  so  buffaloed  I  bought  two  thousand  frills. 
As  for  advertising  men,  they  simply  have  to  be  swept 
off  the  doorsteps  in  the  morning,  they're  so  thick." 

"  What  about  the  boarders  themselves  ?  "  Rosa 
mond  remembered  to  inquire. 

"  They  seem  to  be  a  minor  detail,"  said  he,  "  but 
I  have  quite  a  lot  already,  worse  luck." 

Rosamond  trailed  her  hand  in  the  water,  and  looked 
over  at  the  sunset.  It  made  a  long  pink  path  up  to 
the  very  end  of  the  lake. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  she  asked  sympathetically. 
"  Do  they  bark  and  bite?  " 

"  Not  yet.  But  they  growl,"  said  Richard  sadly. 
"  They  growl  horribly.  Mrs.  Woolman  says  it's  to 
be  expected,  but  it  worries  me." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Woolman's  come?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  goodness,"  said  Richard  devoutly. 
"  She's  a  tower  of  strength.  She's  a  little  severe 
with  me,  but  she  keeps  everybody  else  straight, 
too." 

"What's  the  particular  trouble,  then?" 

"  Various   things,"   said  Richard.     "  Do   you  re- 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  NATURE         207 

member  the  Mrs.  J.  Simonton  who  wrote  for  terms 
for  three  adults  and  pug?  " 

"  M'hm,"  nodded  Rosamond.  "  She  came,  did 
she?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Richard  with  what  was  nearly  a 
groan.  "  They  all  sleep  in  the  same  room,  adults, 
pug  and  all,  and  the  pug  snores  very  badly.  At  least 
they  say  it's  the  pug.  And  the  people  next  door 
don't  like  it.  They're  going  to  leave  unless  the  pug 
stops  snoring." 

"  But  you  can't  make  a  pug  stop  snoring !  "  said 
Rosamond,  beginning  to  laugh.  "And  you  can't 
make  people,  either,  because  they  never  believe  they 
do  it.  It's  too  insulting  to  themselves." 

Richard  sighed. 

"  Exactly,"  he  said.  "  Well,  what  on  earth  can 
I  do?" 

Rosamond  thought  a  moment. 

"  There  isn't  anybody  deaf,  is  there,  who  could 
exchange  rooms  with  Mrs.  J.  Simonton's  neigh 
bours  ?  "  she  asked  finally. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Richard,  but  he  brightened 
a  little.  "  I'll  see  when  I  get  back.  But  that's  not 
the  worst  of  it.  They  all  hold  me  responsible  for  the 
weather ! " 

"For  the  weather!"  Rosamond  looked  at  him  in 
astonishment. 

He  nodded  dolefully. 

"  Yes.     I  don't  mean  that  they  give  me  any  par- 


WHY  NOT? 

ticular  credit  when  the  sun  is  shining.  They  accept 
that  no  more  than  I  should  do,  and  frisk  off  to  have 
good  times.  But  when  it's  cloudy,  or  it  rains  so  they 
have  to  stay  around  the  hotel,  they  make  life  a  misery 
to  me.  They  gather  around  me  and  make  pointed  re 
marks  about  how  long  it  is  since  it  was  clear,  and  how 
curious  it  is  that  there  are  so  few  fair  days,  till  I 
feel  as  if  I'd  give  untold  gold  to  have  eighteen  kinds 
of  weather  in  a  sack  behind  the  desk,  like  the  Iceland 
witches.  They  think  I  have,  anyway.  They  seem 
to  believe  it's  sheer  perversity  on  my  part  that  keeps 
me  from  turning  on  bright  days  with  an  electric-light 
switch.  And  the  worst  is  yet  to  come.  Look  at  that 
moon !  "  It  had  risen  by  now,  ringed  with  mist  and 
circled  by  mackerel  clouds.  He  pointed  to  it  tragi 
cally  with  his  paddle.  "  It's  going  to  be  bad  weather 
again  to-morrow ! " 

"  But  those  classmates  of  yours.  They're  down, 
aren't  they?  The  men  we  thought  would  keep  the 
girls  amused." 

Jerrold  nodded. 

"  Oh,  yes,  they're  here.  But  they  aren't  much 
trouble,  anyway,  the  girls,  I  mean.  They  seem  con 
tented  enough  if  they  can  lean  over  the  desk  and  talk. 
It's  the  older  women.  I  didn't  bring  the  bunch  down 
to  look  after  them,  you  know.  It  wouldn't  be  fair." 

Rosamond  considered.  It  is  hard  to  be  revengeful 
when  you  haven't  a  disposition  that  can't  be  made  to 
hold  malice.  It  had  always  been  something  of  a  trial 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  NATURE         209 

to  Rosamond  that  she  couldn't  stay  angry  more  than 
two  hours  at  the  most.  But  going  down  to  the  hotel 
to  tell  fortunes  wouldn't  be  revenge  alone.  It  looked 
like  a  stern  duty.  Indeed,  it  couldn't  be  revenge,  be 
cause  she  found  herself  a  little  reluctant  to  do  it ;  and 
it  is  well  known  that  revengers  enjoy  being  revenge 
ful. 

It  did  seem  curious,  when  she  came  to  think  of  it, 
that  she  had  been  all  this  time  in  Wanalasset,  and  had 
never  yet  gotten  around  to  the  thing  she  had  been  go 
ing  to  adopt  as  a  profession  —  fortune-telling.  In 
stead  of  that,  she  had  been  kept  so  busy  realising 
dreams  for  Jerrold  and  Sydney  and  Mattison  and  Al- 
lie,  and  seeing  that,  once  realised,  they  worked  right, 
that  she  had  never  once  advertised  herself  as  a  supe 
rior  fortune-teller;  never  once  clad  herself  in  a  robe 
of  more-than-Oriental  splendour  and  sat  awaiting 
customers  in  her  dear  green-striped  tent.  She  and 
Allie  used  it  to  have  tea  in,  and  the  bloodhound  had 
developed  a  fondness  for  sleeping  there,  because  he 
could  open  one  eye  and  watch  for  tramps  beneath  the 
tent-flies,  while  he  slept  in  the  shade. 

"  Why  are  you  so  quiet  ? "  Richard  asked  anx 
iously.  "  Have  I  worried  you  with  my  tales  of 
woe?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  the  least  bit  in  the  world,"  she  said  warmly. 
"  I  was  just  thinking  that  I  could  amuse  your  guests 
for  at  least  one  wet  afternoon.  You  remember  you 


210  WHY  NOT? 

said  I  might  use  jour  foyer  to  tell  fortunes  in  ?  Well, 
I'll  be  down  to-morrow  if  it  rains,  in  a  hack,  in  cos 
tume,  and  I'll  read  palms  and  tell  fortunes  otherwise 
till  dinnertime." 

"  Oh,  Rosamond,  you  angel ! "  Jerrold  burst  out, 
taking  her  hand  impulsively.  She  took  it  promptly 
away,  though  she  didn't  see  why  she  had,  thinking 
things  afterwards,  considering  that  she  and  Jerrold 
would  probably  be  lovers  by  the  time  the  summer  was 
over,  and  it  had  to  begin  some  time  or  other.  If  your 
own  true  knight  that  is  to  be  mayn't  hold  your  hand, 
who  may? 

"  No,  I'm  not  an  angel,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head. 
"  It's  pure  self-interest.  I  intended  to  do  it  when  I 
came  here,  and  I've  never  got  around  to  it  till  now, 
that's  all.  And  I  may  make  heaps  of  money  at  it !  " 

"  What  made  you  think  of  coming  down  here,  any 
way  ?  "  asked  Jerrold  idly,  watching  her.  She  was 
always  a  pleasure  to  watch,  she  flashed  and  changed 
so  at  every  word  she  spoke. 

"  Stern  necessity,  and  a  desire  to  be  happy  though 
necessitising,"  she  answered  cheerfully.  "  I  had  to 
earn  my  living,  and  I  didn't  see  why  I  shouldn't  do  it 
in  my  own  way,  and  enjoy  myself  as  I  went  along. 
Do  you  remember  in  Jean  Ingelow's  *  Mopsa  the 
Fairy,'  everybody's  always  saying,  *  What  you  can 
do  you  may  do,  in  Fairyland  '  ?  " 

Richard  shook  his  head.  It  was  no  use  trying  to 
keep  up  with  Rosamond's  mastery  of  fairy-books,  an- 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  NATURE         gll 

cient  and  modern.     She  had  apparently  read  all  there 
were  in  the  world. 

"  Well,  they  do,"  she  said,  referring  presumably  to 
the  fairies  in  "  Mopsa."  "  You  know  —  or  perhaps 
you  don't  —  that  I  was  brought  up  by  a  grand-uncle 
who,  to  put  it  mildly,  didn't  believe  in  fairies.  Also 
he  never  saw  any  reason  why  people  should  want  to 
be  happy.  He  was,  though,  in  a  certain  manner,  now 
I  come  to  think  of  it.  He  collected  Americana  like 
your  friend  Mattison,  and  I  remember  hearing  him 
tell  a  fellow-Americanist  once  that  there  was  no  joy 
like  it,  so  —  why,  he  must  have  enjoyed  living  in  a 
way !  His  manners  never  betrayed  it,  though.  But 
outside  of  the  pleasure  of  paying  much,  much  more 
than  you  need  to  for  little  dingy  pamphlets  with  f's 
for  s's,  he  didn't  approve  of  other  folks'  joys.  So  I 
grew  up  with  him,  and  so  did  my  cheerful  disposition. 
I  must  have  been  a  natural-born  happy  person.  I 
certainly  never  was  given  any  training  in  it !  But  the 
way  I  account  for  myself  is  principally  that  I  formed 
my  character  out  of  fairy-books.  Grand-Uncle  Alvin 
thought  that  as  long  as  I  was  reading  I  was  all  right, 
and  doing  myself  good  besides  not  bothering  him. 
So  he  let  me.  And  of  course,  when  you're  fairly  sure 
that  the  ideals  of  the  person  that  you  live  with  are 
wrong  —  and  any  small  child  can  see  a  thing  like 
that  —  why,  you  have  to  get  ideals  somewhere  else. 
I  got  mine  out  of  the  fairy-books.  Why,  even 
yet  — "  Rosamond's  dark  eyes  lighted  whimsically, 


WHY  NOT? 

"  even  yet,  I'm  not  sure  that  if  somebody  cut  off  poor 
old  Livy's  head  and  tail  and  threw  them  in  the  fire,  he 
mightn't  turn  into  a  fairy  prince !  But  the  principal 
thing  I  learned  from  the  fairy-stories  was  that  people 
ought  always  to  end  by  living  happy  ever  after. 
There's  never  any  reason  why  not  in  a  fairy-book. 
And  there's  rarely  any  in  real  living,  either!  So  I 
didn't  see  why  I  shouldn't  go  off  and  seek  my  own  for 
tune,  and  be  happy  while  I  was  doing  it." 

"  And  is  it  a  good  fortune  so  far?  "  he  asked. 

Rosamond  laughed. 

"  It  isn't  finished  yet.  But  I'm  sure  it's  going  to 
end  beautifully.  I  shall  be  very  much  surprised  and 
disappointed  if  I  don't  end  by  reigning  over  three 
kingdoms  with  all  my  dreams  realised,  and  giving 
away  three  more  among  my  relatives.  .  .  .  That's 
the  way  the  fairy-tales  always  end,  you  know.  Why 
not?  as  the  Caterpillar  said." 

"  It's  rather  a  feminist  fairy-tale  you're  planning 
for,"  said  Richard.  "  I  think  you  have  it  a  little 
wrong.  You  marry  the  Prince  who  owns  the  three 
kingdoms,  and  it's  he  who  passes  out  slices  of  realm 
to  your  wicked  relatives,  or  else  rolls  them  downhill 
in  spiked  barrels,  according  to  all  the  fairy-stories  of 
my  recollection." 

"  I'm  sure  that  would  hurt,"  said  Rosamond 
thoughtfully.  "  No,  spiked  barrels  have  gone  out. 
But  —  if  he  was  a  very  nice  prince  —  it  would  save 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  NATURE         213 

trouble,  anyway.  I  don't  know,  though.  I  like  my 
kind  of  a  fairy-tale  better." 

"  If  you  have  as  much  success  in  realising  your  own 
dreams  as  you  have  had  with  mine  you  will  certainly 
do  well,"  said  Jerrold.  "  But  I  don't  see  how  you've 
been  left  any  time  to  do  your  own  things." 

"  Indeed,  I've  had  heaps  of  time ! "  she  answered 
gaily.  "  I've  realised  nearly  half  the  things  I  set 
out  for,  already." 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  they  were  ?  " 
Richard  asked. 

He  seemed  more  interested  in  her  affairs  and  less  in 
his  own  than  he  had  ever  been  so  far  in  their  dealings 
together.  You  always  feel  that  when  a  man  is  gen 
uinely  anxious  to  talk  to  yourself  about  you,  he  is  — 
well,  he  doesn't  dislike  you,  anyway.  That  is,  un 
less  he  is  a  professional  scalp-collector,  which  Rich 
ard,  nice  straightforward  boy  that  he  was,  certainly 
was  not.  Rosamond  looked  at  him  and  felt  obliged. 
Then  she  remembered  that  she  had  quite  the  wrong 
feeling.  She  should  have  felt  thrilled,  and  wildly 
happy.  Gratitude  should  have  been  only  a  small  part 
of  it. 

"  I  suppose  I'm  not  like  other  girls,"  she  thought 
sadly.  "  I'm  not  an  easy  faller  in  love.  There  must 
be  thrills  somewhere  in  me.  Well,  perhaps  they'll 
come  later  if  I'm  patient." 

"  You've  forgotten  to   tell  me  about  the   dream 


WHY  NOT? 

you've  realised  already,"  said  Jerrold,  and  his  voice 
sounded  very  eager  and  interested. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  Rosamond  replied 
quickly,  colouring.  "  Well,  I  wanted  somebody  to 
look  up  to  me,  and  regard  everything  I  did  as  just 
right.  That  sounds  awfully  egotistical,  you  know, 
but  when  you're  young — " 

"  7  know,"  said  Richard  with  feeling.  "  Nobody 
does.  They  expect  you  to  do  every  bit  of  looking 
up  that's  done  on  the  premises.  Aunt  Genevieve  — " 

But  that  way,  Rosamond  knew,  madness  lay. 
Aunt  Genevieve  led  directly  to  the  turbine  engine,  and 
Rosamond  felt  selfishly  averse  to  talking  turbine  for 
two  hours  straight,  this  particular  evening. 

"  Allie  was  the  answer  to  the  looking  up,"  she  in 
terrupted  him.  "  And  I  wanted  a  Livonian  blood 
hound." 

They  both  burst  out  laughing  at  that. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  said,  "  I've  come  to  the  con 
clusion  that  he's  as  near  one  as  there  is.  I'm  afraid 
Livonian  bloodhounds  are  myths.  Anyway,  if  they 
aren't  even,  it's  impossible  to  go  to  Livonia  and 
look,  till  things  are  a  little  tidier  in  Europe.  There 
mayn't  even  be  any  Livonia." 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is,"  said  Richard,  late  of  Yale. 
"  It's  somewhere  in  Poland.  What  else  ?  " 

"  To  lie  on  the  grass  and  look  up  at  the  stars  for 
a  whole  evening,  without  being  made  to  come  in,  or 
anything  like  that.  It's  been  a  little  chilly  for  that 


(Page  215) 


'  'Here*  s  Farley* s, ' '  said  Richard 


THE  BEAUTIES  OF  NATURE         215 

yet.  ...  I  have  a  queer  feeling  as  if  that  never  were 
going  to  happen.  And  I  haven't  eaten  ice-cream  in 
the  forenoon  yet,  either.  I  always  wanted  that,  be 
cause  it's  an  especial  no-reason-why-not  that  nobody 
ever  thinks  of  doing." 

"  What  else  ?  "  inquired  Richard  again.  But  the 
two  next  things  that  Rosamond  remembered  were  a 
Japanese  silk  nightgown  and  a  Knightly  Lover.  No 
particular  use  mentioning  such  a  trivial  thing  as  a 
nightgown,  and  as  for  mentioning  a  Knightly  Lover 
—  well,  one  simply  couldn't,  with  the  man  Fate  had 
cast  for  the  role  sitting  up  looking  at  one! 

"  My  bungalow  was  one,"  she  said  demurely,  "  and 
telling  fortunes  was  another.  I'm  doing  very  well." 

"  Here's  Farley's,"  said  Richard,  sending  the 
canoe's  keel  grating  up  on  the  shore,  and  helping  her 
out  dexterously  before  it  tipped. 

They  walked  out  into  the  circle  of  lights  on  the 
lawn,  to  the  sound  of  the  tinkling  mandolins,  and  sat 
down  at  one  of  the  little  tables  dotted  about  under  the 
trees.  A  waiter  came  bounding  toward  them,  and 
Rosamond  buried  herself  in  the  menu  with  the  idea 
of  finding  out  the  most  unhomelike  dishes  and  order 
ing  them. 

She  selected  something,  at  last,  with  a  French  name 
that  spread  over  a  line  and  a  half,  and  the  reflection, 
"  If  he  were  here  he'd  tell  me  I  mustn't  have  it  be 
cause  it  was  indigestible ! "  the  shadow  of  Mr. 
Squire's  presence,  which  had  been  accompanying  her 


216  WHY  NOT? 

thoughts  everywhere  of  late,  looming  up  even  on  the 
menu. 

"  He's  as  bad  as  the  head  of  Charles  the  First  in 
Mr.  Dick's  memorial,"  she  said  petulantly,  and  by 
mistake  aloud. 

Jerrold,  across  from  her  and  buried  in  another 
menu,  lifted  his  head  with  a  quick  brightening  of  his 
expression. 

"Did  you  say  'Dick'?"  he  said.  "I  do  wish 
you'd  try  to  call  me  that  after  this.  You  will,  won't 
you?  I  hate  not  saying  Rosamond." 

She  coloured.  But  there  was  no  use  going  into  it 
all  again,  or  explaining  what  she  had  really  said. 
And  perhaps  if  she  did  call  him  Dick  it  might  get 
that  dreadful  Squire-presence  out  of  her  mind  a 
little. 

"  Very  well  —  Dick,"  she  acquiesced,  looking  up 
at  him  from  under  her  lashes.  "  I'm  going  to  have 
this,  but  I  can't  pronounce  it.  You'll  have  to  show 
it  to  the  waiter.  He  probably  knows  what  it  is." 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

THE    MERRY    ZINGARA 

r  I  iHEY  got  home  at  a  reasonably  early  hour,  so 
J[  Rosamond  got  up  unreasonably  early  next 
day,  and  went  sewing  on  her  costume  of  more-than- 
Oriental-splendour.  The  skirt  was  done,  but  owing 
to  the  need  for  haste  the  rest  of  it  wasn't  particularly 
gorgeous.  Indeed,  for  a  fortune-teller  it  was,  as  the 
vaudeville  bills  say,  "  quiet  and  refined  to  a  degree." 
She  managed  to  make  a  little  black  velvet  bolero  to 
slip  over  one  of  her  white  silk  blouses.  She  also 
happened  to  own  a  black  tinselled  scarf  which  she 
draped  around  her  waist  with  great  effect.  And  she 
crowned  the  edifice,  or  perhaps  founded  it  would  be 
the  better  word,  with  a  pair  of  black  velvet  evening 
slippers.  She  draped  a  lace  scarf  over  her  head,  and 
decided  that  she  would  have  to  do,  though  she  did 
not  quite  satisfy  her  own  ideas  of  what  a  gipsy 
should  look  like,  at  that.  She  was  not  mysterious- 
looking  enough.  And  all  the  fortune-tellers  she  had 
ever  encountered  had  been  fat. 

"That's  for  the  fortunes,  isn't  it?"  asked  Allie, 
coming  in  and  leaning  against  her  knee  before  she 

put  it  on. 

217 


218  WHY  NOT? 

"  Yes,  dear,"  answered  Rosamond,  wishing  that 
Allie  was  not  so  clever  for  her  age. 

"  Are  you  going  to  sit  out  in  the  tent  and  wait 
for  customers  ?  "  Allie  demanded  next.  "  It  looks 
like  rain." 

"  No,"  answered  Rosamond,  who  was  not  good  at 
evasions,  "  I'm  going  down  to  Mr.  Jerrold's  hotel 
this  afternoon,  if  it  rains,  to  tell  fortunes  there." 

Rosamond  expected  that  the  next  thing  on  Allie's 
part  would  be  a  demand  to  be  allowed  to  go  along. 
But  Allie  had  something  quite  different  on  her  mind. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  reminded  Rosamond  softly, 
looking  like  a  little  angel  with  her  curls  falling  over 
her  blue  frock,  and  her  wide  eyes  upraised  to  Rosa 
mond's,  "  do  you  know,  dearest  Auntie,  you've  never 
thanked  Mr.  Squire  for  the  little  brown  dog?  He 
isn't  a  really  big  dog,  like  Livy,"  she  added,  "  but  he's 
enough  of  a  dog  to  thank  people  for.  Martha  says 
little  ladies—" 

"  Shades  of  the  Elsie  books !  "  cried  Rosamond,  half 
vexed,  half  amused,  "  and  I  thought  I'd  hidden  my 
self  from  people  who  wanted  to  bring  me  up  prop 
erly!  Allie,  darling,  I'm  not  a  little  lady.  And  I 
do  wish  — " 

She  wanted  to  end,  "  and  I  do  wish  you'd  attend 
to  your  own  affairs,"  but  she  could  not  bring  herself 
to  hurt  the  child's  feelings.  Though  another  of  her 
visions  was  crashing  about  her.  Where  was  Allie's 


THE  MERRY  ZINGARA  219 

attitude  of  absolute  belief?  And,  like  everything 
else,  it  was  John  Squire's  fault. 

Allie  never  blinked.  She  held  her  graceful  little 
Lady  Loveliness  pose,  and  her  wide  eyes  never  left 
Rosamond's  face. 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  thank  him,"  she  repeated 
firmly. 

Rosamond  gave  her  an  impulsive,  half-cross  hug 
and  kiss. 

"  I  know  it,"  she  said.  "  All  right,  you  wretched 
little  angel-child.  I'll  do  it  now." 

She  knew,  herself,  she  ought  to ;  but  she  had  been 
putting  it  off  and  putting  it  off  in  a  very  cowardly 
fashion.  For  it  is  embarrassing  to  thank  people  for 
little  dogs,  even  when  the  little  dogs  are  adorable, 
if  you  are  certain  the  people  despise  you  and  con 
sider  your  conduct  entirely  wrong.  For  that  was  the 
way,  Rosamond  knew,  that  Mr.  Squire  must  feel  about 
her.  The  remembrance  of  it  kept  a  little  spot  in  her 
mind  hurting  still,  away  down  under  the  cheerful 
ness. 

"  At  least  he  ordered  Darling  for  me  away  back 
when  things  were  all  right,  and  each  of  us  thought 
the  other  was  nice,"  she  decided.  "  So  I  must  write 
the  note  as  I  were  back  there,  too." 

And  she  did.  Not  that  it  wasn't  hard.  Yet  she 
finally  got  it  as  courteous  and  as  gay  and  as  grate 
ful  as  if  these  days  were  still  the  days  when  she  and 


220  WHY  NOT? 

John  Squire  got  on  fairly  well  on  the  surface,  and 
were,  a  little  beneath  the  surface,  the  best  of  good 
comrades. 

"  Here,  Alicia,"  she  said.  "  You  may  take  this 
over  to  Mr.  Squire.  It's  the  note  of  thanks  for 
Darling  that  you  wanted  me  to  write." 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  "  bubbled  Allie  rapturously,  and 
was  off  before  Rosamond  could  offer  her  anything 
more  than  the  note.  Livy  the  bloodhound  loped  sol 
emnly  after  her. 

Rosamond  caught  Darling  in  a  sudden  hug. 

66  Oh,  Darling,  if  it  wasn't  for  you  what  would  I 
do?  "  she  said. 

Darling  put  out  his  little  pink  tongue  and  kissed 
her  cheek,  and  so  she  had  to  put  him  down,  and 
went  on  with  her  sewing  again.  There  was  not  so 
much  to  do  to  it,  but  that  she  was  through,  and  had 
luncheon  all  ready  before  Allie  returned. 

"  Did  you  deliver  the  note  ?  "  demanded  Rosamond. 

Alicia  nodded,  while  a  certain  cat-that-ate-the- 
canary  expression  overspread  her  small,  seraphic 
face. 

"  Yes,  dear  Auntie,"  said  she. 

"  And  what  did  Mr.  Squire  say  ? "  Rosamond 
asked. 

"  Nothing.  That  is,  he  said,  '  Tell  her  I'll  answer 
her  in  person.' " 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  sighed  Rosamond.  "  He  is  such  an 
unforgiving  person !  "  Though  when  a  man  threat- 


THE  MERRY  ZINGARA 

ens  never  to  trouble  you  again  one  day,  and  promises 
to  answer  a  note  of  thanks  in  person  shortly  after 
ward,  he  is  really  not  as  unforgiving  as  he  might 
be.  "  Allie,"  she  went  on  whimsically,  "  sometimes  I 
wish  you  could  be  a  mother  to  me.  I  feel  as  if  I 
needed  one.  It  would  be  ruinous  to  your  training 
if  I  told  you  what  I  think  of  John  Squire,  and  I  do 
so  want  to !  " 

"  Mrs.  Simmons  always  told  me  what  she  thought 
of  Mr.  Simmons,"  suggested  Allie  with  simplicity. 
"  She  swore,  too,  sometimes.  Fearful.  So  I  guess 
you  wouldn't  hurt  me.  Go  on,  Auntie,  you'll  feel  lots 
better  if  you  do." 

"  Come  to  luncheon,"  said  Rosamond  in  a  tone  she 
seldom  used,  but  which,  used,  made  Allie  invariably 
obey  in  awed  silence. 

And  after  luncheon,  exactly  as  if  some  one  had 
turned  on  the  weather  on  purpose,  it  began  to  rain. 

"  My  fatal  vow !  "  said  Rosamond  ruefully,  for  she 
didn't  want  to  go  a-fortune-telling  one  little  bit. 
She'd  had  five  hours  of  Richard  the  night  before, 
which  meant  two  with  the  turbine  engine ;  and  even 
the  remembrance  of  Richard's  tender  eyes  and  soft 
words  and  pleading  voice,  when  he  wasn't  talking  tur 
bine,  failed  to  make  her  want  to  hire  a  hack  and  go 
down  to  oblige  him  through  the  rain. 

"  It's  because  I'm  horrid  and  feminine  and  curious," 
she  accused  herself.  "  I  want  to  stay  home  and  have 
a  little  fire,  and  hear  what  Mr.  Squire  has  to  say. 


WHY  NOT? 

...  At  that  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  be  a  bit  pleasant 
to  hear." 

But  Rosamond  always  kept  her  promises.  She 
went  up  to  her  room  and  put  on  the  costume  just  the 
same  as  if  she  had  wanted  to.  She  looked  very  pretty 
in  it,  so  pretty  that  her  spirits  rose  a  little.  She 
wrapped  herself  in  her  cloak,  telephoned  for  a  hack, 
and  sat  down  to  wait.  She  was  on  pins  and  needles, 
because  if  John  Squire  got  there  before  the  hack  did 
(and  he  never  stopped  for  rain)  he  might  disapprove 
of  her  adventure.  So  when  at  last  the  hackman  sum 
moned  her  it  was  a  great  relief,  and  she  hurried  down 
the  lane  with  him,  and  jumped  into  the  hack  with 
her  old  delightfully  adventurous  feeling  of  Eliza- 
escaping-from-the-bloodhounds.  And  so  narrow  was 
her  escape,  that  as  they  drove  past  his  house  she  saw 
Squire  striding  down  his  steps. 

"  He  couldn't  really  do  anything  but  disapprove," 
she  reminded  herself.  "  And  there's  no  reason  why 
I  should  mind  his  disapproval  as  long  as  I  know  I'm 
right."  But  she  did,  and  all  the  way  to  the  Mam 
moth  she  wondered  at  it. 

The  Mammoth  guests,  bored  by  the  rain,  and  rather 
stupid  because,  for  lack  of  something  better  to  do, 
they  had  eaten  too  much  dinner,  sat  about  the  foyer 
in  little  groups.  Some  of  them  rocked  and  some 
crocheted.  Most,  as  it  was  mid-week,  were  women. 
The  younger  ones  were  nearly  all  around  the  desk, 
and  Rosamond  wondered  what  on  earth  Richard  kept 


THE  MERRY  ZINGARA 

back  there  that  was  so  exciting.  But  when  she 
glanced  through  a  crack  between  two  of  the  girls,  she 
discovered  it  was  merely  Richard  himself,  trying 
to  do  accounts,  and  rather  flurried  by  so  many 
watchers. 

She  flung  back  the  hood  of  her  cloak  boldly,  thrust 
out  one  bare,  braceleted  arm  and  touched  the  girl 
nearest  her. 

"  Tell  your  fortune,  pretty  lady  ?  "  she  asked  in 
the  time-honoured  formula  which  no  fifty-cent  for 
tune-teller  ever  uses.  Then  she  dropped  into  the  ver 
nacular.  "  I'll  do  yours  free,  and  another,  to  start, 
and  to  show  that  I  do  good  fortunes." 

Richard  had  jumped  as  if  he  was  shot  when  she 
spoke.  Now  he  dropped  his  head  over  his  figures, 
and  she  saw  his  shoulders  quiver.  A  man's  sense  of 
humour,  it  occurred  to  her,  was  certainly  a  queer 
thing.  The  girl  Rosamond  touched  turned,  showing 
a  pretty,  sunburned  face. 

"  Oh,  how  splendid ! "  she  cried,  and  led  the  way 
promptly  to  a  corner,  with  nearly  all  the  rest  follow 
ing  her.  Richard  had  at  least  a  little  time  for  his 
figuring. 

Rosamond  read  palms  cleverly.  She  put  more 
brains  into  it  than  the  average  fortune-teller,  as  she 
had  explained  to  Cousin  Jenny  before  she  left  for 
Wanalasset  to  seek  her  fortune.  She  did  her  very 
best  with  the  two  girls  who  were  free  samples,  and 
when  they  were  through  other  applicants,  at  thirty- 


WHY  NOT? 

five  cents  a  hand,  were  easy  to  come  by.  The  ones 
who  weren't  being  done  clustered  eagerly  around  the 
ones  who  were,  and  listened  with  the  greatest  excite 
ment.  Rosamond  had  thought  that  only  the  young 
girls  would  have  any  interest  in  the  palm-reading, 
but  the  older  women,  no  matter  how  many  years  had 
gone  eventlessly  over  their  heads,  were  as  excited  as 
ever  over  what  time  was  left  to  them.  Thirty-five 
cents  after  thirty-five  cents  the  palmist  dropped  into 
the  picturesque  bag  which  swung  from  her  waist. 
She  had  jubilant  visions  of  a  new  frock  for  Allie, 
and,  if  all  went  well,  a  harness  that  should  set  off 
Darling's  charms  to  perfection.  She  told  on  at  her 
fortunes  with  half  of  her  mind,  while  the  other  medi 
tated  on  the  beauty  of  earning  lovely  amounts  of 
money  by  dressing  up  and  reading  palms  of  a  rainy 
afternoon. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  girls  and  the  beginning  of 
the  older  women  she  came  to  a  little  lady  who  was 
rather  more  attractive  than  the  rest.  She  was  a 
small,  fair  woman,  rather  too  prettily  dressed  for 
a  rainy  day  indoors,  and  she  hadn't  brushed  off  the 
powder  quite  enough.  But  she  had  a  sweet  little 
pointed  face  with  arched  eyebrows  and  a  long  chin, 
the  kind  which  makes  people  feel  protecting.  She 
might  have  been  anything  from  a  worn  twenty-eight 
to  a  young  forty.  She  seemed  feverishly  anxious  to 
know  everything  that  her  hand  said. 

"  Can't  you  do  it  another  way  yet  ?  "  she  asked 


THE  MERRY  ZINGARA 

when  Rosamond  had  told  her  everything  that  she 
could  think  of  by  palmistry.  So  a  pack  of  cards 
was  found,  and  her  fortune  told  all  over  again  that 
way. 

"  Do  you  see  anything  about  a  woman,  a  dark 
woman?"  she  asked. 

"  An  enemy,  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Rosamond,  look 
ing  up  from  the  cards ;  because  in  card  fortunes  if 
you  are  fair  a  dark  woman  is  bound  to  be  an  enemy. 

"  No,  oh  no,  not  an  enemy  at  all,"  said  the  little 
fair  lady  nervously.  "  I  want  to  be  as  good  to  her 
as  I  can.  But  I'm  worried  about  her.  I  thought 
perhaps  the  cards  might  say  where  she  was." 

People  make  startling  confidences  over  having  their 
fortunes  told.  Rosamond  was  not  at  all  surprised  at 
being  told  this  much. 

"A  relative?"  she  asked  without  much  curiosity. 

"  My  stepdaughter,"  the  little  lady  answered. 

Rosamond  took  a  long  breath. 

"Would  you  mind,"  she  said,  "telling  me  your 
name  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  she  said.  "  Browne.  Mrs.  Adeline 
Browne." 

Rosamond  shuffled  the  cards  again  to  gain  time. 
So  this  was —  this  must  be  —  Sydney's  dreaded  step 
mother,  this  harmless,  little,  nervous,  over-mannered 
lady,  of  whom  the  worst  you  could  say  was  that  she 
was  fussy!  And  then  Rosamond  remembered  that 
little  fair  women  with  fluttering  manners  and  long 


WHY  NOT? 

chins  usually  have  wills  of  their  own;  and  that  Mrs. 
Browne  had  unquestionably  spent  her  stepmotherhood 
in  trying  to  make  big,  direct,  impatient  Sydney  into 
a  small  and  fluffy  person  with  appealing  ways.  She 
could  quite  reconstruct  the  effect  it  might  have  had 
on  Sydney's  nerves,  granting  the  best  will  in  the 
world  on  both  sides.  She  addressed  herself  to  the 
cards  again  wondering  just  how  to  meet  the  situa 
tion. 

"  Yes,  I  can  see  the  dark  woman  here  in  the  cards," 
she  said.  "  She  has  gone  away  for  a  —  for  a  rest 
in  a  quiet  place.  She  is  very  happy,  and  thinks 
kindly  of  you.  You  will  see  her  in  — "  Rosamond 
stopped  to  reckon  on  the  cards  — "  in  three.  Three 
months,  you  know,  or  three  years  or  three  weeks. 
Weeks,  maybe." 

Mrs.  Browne  sat  back  with  a  little  involuntary  sigh 
of  relief. 

"  Of  course  it's  very  silly,  and  I  don't  believe  in 
the  cards  a  bit,  but  it  is  a  comfort  to  have  them 
come  out  that  way,"  she  said.  "  She  did  say  she  was 
going  off  to  a  rest  cure,  one  of  those  horrid  places 
where  they  won't  let  your  own  family  write  you,  you 
know  —  but  she  looked  so  happy  I  wasn't  half  sure. 
When  she  looked  that  way  I  was  always  sure,  from 
a  child,  that  it  was  time  to  watch  her  hard,  and  stop 
everything  she  was  doing  on  the  chance  that  there  was 
mischief  behind  it." 

Rosamond  was  certain  now.     But  she  was  still  un- 


THE  MERRY  ZINGARA  227 

sure  what  she  must  do.  She  wished  she  could  reas 
sure  the  little  stepmother,  who  plainly  wanted  to  do 
only  too  much  of  her  duty;  but  she  could  not  begin 
anything  without  Sydney's  permission.  She  would 
have  to  write  Sydney,  or  go  to  see  her,  first. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  come  up  and  see  me,  where 
I  live?  "  she  asked  Mrs.  Browne.  "  I  should  be  glad 
to  read  your  fortune  again,  just  for  my  own  amuse 
ment.  You  have  a  very  interesting  fate.  I  think  I 
could  see  something  more  of  your  relative  in  my 
crystal." 

She  was  not  positive  how  the  little  stepmother 
would  take  this.  But  she  jumped  at  it. 

"  Why,  thank  you  very  much.  I  should  be 
charmed  to  come,"  she  said.  "  Please  tell  me  wherfe 
to  find  you." 

"  Mr.  Jerrold  can  tell  you,"  she  said.  "  But 
please  don't  tell  any  one  else.  It's  a  very  exceptional 
thing  for  me  to  have  clients  where  I  live." 

"  I  won't  breathe  a  word  to  any  one,"  vowed  Mrs. 
Browne.  "  What  day  shall  I  come?  " 

They  appointed  the  following  Thursday,  after 
which  Rosamond  went  on  with  her  next  sitter.  She 
had  hardly  informed  the  lady  that  she  had  strong 
intuitions,  but  was  too  idealistic  for  the  good  of  her 
own  affections,  when  she  heard  a  step  on  the  bare 
foyer  floor  that  made  her  fling  her  head  back,  and  in 
stinctively  look  up. 

"Is  Miss  Gilbert  here?"  she  heard  the  Squire's 


228  WHY  NOT? 

voice  say.  One's  own  name  carries  across  unbeliev 
able  spaces.  "  I  should  like  to  speak  to  her,  if  she 
is." 

Rosamond  whirled  around  and  stood  up.  Richard, 
she  saw,  did  not  quite  know  what  to  answer.  She 
excused  herself  to  her  sitter,  and  crossed  to  the  desk, 
where  she  looked  straight  at  the  two  men. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  said,  not  over-enthusiastically. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  interfere  with  you  in  the  success 
ful  exercise  of  your  profession,"  said  Mr.  Squire, 
66  but  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  come  back  home  with 
me." 

His  manner  —  he  who  had  never  been  going  to 
trouble  her  again !  —  was  very  gentle  and  compas 
sionate.  Rosamond  looked  him  over  again.  He 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  how  much  he  disapproved 
of  her.  But  she  did  not  forget  how  much  she  dis 
liked  having  her  pleasant  and  profitable  afternoon 
broken  into  this  way. 

"  Are  you  trying  to  persecute  me  ?  "  she  demanded 
in  an  angry  undertone.  "  You  haven't  a  right  in 
the  world  to  come  and  make  me  stop  this.  I  suppose 
Allie  told  you,  and  you've  come  in  your  car,  with 
Martha  all  complete,  to  drag  me  away.  Well,  I 
won't  go  unless  you  pull  me  out  shrieking  wildly. 
And  I  have  a  dreadfully  wild  shriek.  I  wouldn't  do 
it  if  I  were  you." 

"  I  won't,"  said  he  grimly  when  she  stopped  to 


THE  MERRY  ZINGARA  229 

get  her  breath.  "  I  will  merely  offer  you  the  hospi 
tality  of  my  car,  and  the  chaperonage  of  my  house 
keeper,  in  case  you  want  them  yourself  when  I've  fin 
ished  what  I  have  to  say.  Your  cousins,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Hoskins,  the  ones,  I  think,  that  you  refer  to  as 
Cousin  George  and  Cousin  Jenny,  are  at  your  bunga 
low,  and  seem  to  be  going  to  stay  there  till  you  come 
back  and  render  an  account  of  yourself." 

Having  completed  his  errand,  he  ceased. 

Rosamond  stared  at  him.  Then  she  took  one  un 
conscious  step  closer  to  him,  and  looked  at  him  — 
she  did  not  realise  how  appealingly. 

"  Oh  dear! "  she  said.  Then  she  drew  back, 
straightened  up,  and  laughed.  "We  about  to  die 
salute  you,"  she  said  over  her  shoulder  to  Richard. 
"  Good-bye,  Dick.  I  seem  to  be  about  to  go  home  in 
Mr.  Squire's  car !  " 

She  drew  her  cloak  about  her  with  dignity,  and 
went  decorously  out  with  her  captor. 

"  The  honours  of  war  are  with  you  this  time," 
she  said  to  him.  "  Only  you  ought  to  lead  me  along 
on  the  asphalt  behind,  in  chains,  instead  of  giving  me 
a  seat  inside  your  chariot." 

But  Mr.  Squire  had  seen  the  quick  compression  of 
her  lips,  and  the  effort  it  was  to  her  to  be  flippant. 

"Poor  child!"  he  said.  "Don't  bother  to  talk; 
just  lean  back  and  rest.  You  must  be  tired." 

"  I   feel  like  the  heroine  of  a  melodrama,"   said 


230  WHY  NOT? 

Rosamond,  but  leaning  back  as  he  told  her  to: 
"'Driven  Back  Home:  or,  The  World  Against 
Her!'" 

"  Now  don't  you  be  frightened,  Miss  Rosamond," 
Martha  put  in  unexpectedly  from  the  rear  seat. 
"  I'll  help  you  out  all  I  can  with  that  severe  cousin 
of  yours,  and  so  will  Master  —  Mr.  Squire." 

Rosamond  reached  over  the  back  of  her  seat,  and 
caught  Martha's  hand  and  squeezed  it. 

"  You  dear,  I  know  you  will,"  she  said.  "  But  it's 
not  so  much  that  I'm  frightened  as  that  I'm  afraid 
poor  Cousin  Jenny  is  going  to  feel  badly  about  me. 
I  know  Cousin  George  has  made  her  think  that  a  po 
liceman  ate  me  years  ago." 

But  for  all  she  spoke  bravely,  it  was  a  comfort 
to  feel  that  Martha  was  not  arrayed  against  her. 
She  did  not  expect  any  mercy  from  Martha's  master. 
She  had  gone  counter  to  him  since  the  very  first  day 
of  her  arrival.  She  had  done  those  things  which,  ac 
cording  to  him,  she  ought  not  to  have  done,  and  left 
undone  all  the  proper  and  conventional  things  which 
she  ought  to  have  done.  The  Squire  —  she  couldn't 
help  still  thinking  of  him  by  that  name  occa 
sionally  —  was  a  living  statue  to  the  god  Precedent, 
according  to  Rosamond's  idea  of  him ;  and  Rosamond 
herself  had  never  had  any  use  for  Precedent  at  all. 
And,  helped  courteously  out  of  the  car,  and  escorted 
up  the  steps  in  her  gipsy-frock,  she  felt  very  much 
led  to  judgment.  Now  was  the  time,  if  the  fairy 


THE  MERRY  ZINGARA 

tales  were  true,  and  Rosamond  still  believed  they  were, 
for  the  appearance  of  the  rescuing  Knightly  Lover. 
But  alas !  he  was  toiling  at  his  Quest  down  yonder, 
with  a  perfect  Parsifal-garden  of  maidens  around  his 
desk,  and  she  didn't  see  how  he  could  come. 

She  walked  into  the  house  with  her  head  back  and 
a  smile  on  her  lips.  Her  spirit,  as  usual,  went  up  to 
meet  the  occasion. 

Cousin  George  was  sitting  on  the  chair  nearest 
like  the  ones  }\e  owned  at  home,  with  the  same  look 
of  inexorable  waiting  with  which  he  collected  bills. 
Cousin  Jenny,  looking  as  apprehensively  affectionate 
as  ever,  sat  a  little  behind  him,  her  clasped  hands 
working  a  little  nervously  in  their  black  silk  gloves. 
The  two  of  them,  together  with  that  print  of  the 
Constitution  which  Mattison  had  forgotten  to  buy, 
and  which  still  hung  on  the  wall  behind  them,  created 
such  an  illusion  of  East  Warren  that  Rosamond  had 
to  look  again  at  John  Squire  to  be  sure  that  she  was 
truly  in  Wanalasset  still. 

"  It's  lovely  to  see  you,  Cousin  Jenny,  dear !  "  she 
said,  coming  over  and  kissing  her  cousin.  "  How  do 
you  do,  Cousin  George  ?  " 

Cousin  Jenny  clung  to  her  silently  for  a  minute. 
Cousin  George  got  up,  shook  hands  gingerly,  as  if 
he  feared  it  would  commit  him  to  something  rash,  and 
sat  down  again. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Squire,"  Rosamond  went  coolly  on, 
"  who  lives  a  little  way  up  the  road,  and  has  been 


WHY  NOT? 

looking  after  me  —  in  a  way.  This  is  his  house 
keeper,  Martha." 

Cousin  George  unbent  quite  a  visible  ways. 

"  I  have  met  Mr.  Squire,"  he  granted.  "  In  fact 
we  called  at  his  house  on  our  way  to  look  you  up, 
Anne  Rosamond." 

Rosamond  gave  a  shiver  at  the  sound  of  the  old 
name.  .  .  .  Mr.  Squire,  it  appeared,  had  made  his 
usual  impression  on  the  middle-aged  and  proper. 

"  I  knew  you'd  be  twin  souls ! "  she  could  not  re 
sist  throwing  over  her  shoulder  at  Mr.  Squire,  who 
still  stood  gravely  behind  her. 

"  You  might  ask  me  to  sit  down,"  he  replied  in 
the  same  low  tone  she  had  used,  and  to  her  surprise 
in  the  same  old  half-teasing  way.  She  had  thought 
that  was  buried  forever,  and  to  see  it  emerge 
from  its  grave  lightened  her  spirits  unaccountably. 
She  had  certainly  forgotten  her  manners.  She 
ceremonially  begged  him  and  Martha  to  be  seated, 
and  sat  down  herself,  throwing  back  her  cloak 
as  she  did  so.  Cousin  Jenny  gasped. 

"  Anne  Rosamond !  Have  you  been  to  a  fancy- 
dress  party?  " 

"  I've  been  fortune-telling,"  said  Rosamond 
sweetly.  "  Don't  you  remember  I  told  you  I  was  go 
ing  to?  I've  earned  lots  of  money." 

"  You  did  say  you  were  going  to,  but  we  had  no 
idea  you  spoke  seriously,"  said  Cousin  George  se 
verely.  "  Otherwise,  I  must  admit  that  your  be- 


THE  MERRY  ZINGARA  233 

haviour  had  been  far  more  circumspect  than  I  believed 
possible.  But  your  cousin  and  I  must  insist  on  your 
doing  nothing  more  of  this  sort.  I  have  been  talking 
to  some  agents  in  the  town  below,  and  they  inform  me 
that  this  is  an  easily  rented  property.  So  your 
cousin  and  I  will  be  glad  to  have  you  at  home  in  East 
Warren  as  soon  as  you  have  rented  it  for  the  sum 
mer.  You  need  not  think  of  —  ah  —  remuneration. 
We  should  regard  you  as  our  guest.  Then  in  the 
fall  you  can  start  in  on  some  course  which  would  fit 
you  for  supporting  yourself  through  life.  Mr. 
Squire  will  pardon  me  for  discussing  these  private 
affairs  before  him,  I  am  certain.  You  have  been  in 
charge  of  my  wife's  cousin's  doings  to  a  certain  de 
gree,  I  understand,  Mr.  Squire." 

John  Squire,  who  showed  no  intention  of  leaving 
until  put  out,  assented  gravely.  He  did  not  seem 
to  reciprocate  Cousin  George's  affection  for  him. 

"  But,  Cousin  George,"  expostulated  Rosamond, 
"  I  don't  want  to  do  any  of  those  things.  That's 
why  I  went  off  without  seeing  you.  I  knew  I  couldn't 
tell  you  so  that  you'd  believe  it.  But  I  suppose  I 
might  as  well  tell  you  again,  anyway.  I'm  going  to 
go  on  living  here,  where  I  can  be  happy.  There's 
no  reason  why  people  shouldn't  enjoy  themselves  at 
the  same  time  they're  supporting  themselves.  I  have 
everything  I  want,  and  I'm  living  where  I  like  and 
doing  what  I  like  to,  and  making  enough  money  to 
live  on  besides.  You  don't  especially  like  my  society, 


WHY  NOT? 

you  know  you  don't.  And  when  you  think  it  over 
reasonably,  is  there  any  reason  why  I  shouldn't  be 
doing  this?  There  isn't  one  solitary  reason  why 
not.  .  .  .  Do  you  think  you'll  stay  over  night  with 
me?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Cousin  George,  who  had  been 
very  impatient  during  Rosamond's  speaking.  "  As 
to  your  own  staying  here,  it's  foolish.  In  fact,  I've 
put  the  cottage  into  the  hands  of  all  the  agents  for 
rent,  already. 

Rosamond  threw  back  her  head  indignantly. 

"  You  had  no  right  to  do  that !  "  she  said.  "  I'm 
two  years  over  age,  and  even  if  I  hadn't  been  you 
never  were  my  guardian." 

"  They  say  it  will  rent  very  easily,"  responded 
Cousin  George,  as  if  the  difficulty  in  renting  were  the 
only  objection  a  female  in  her  senses  could  offer. 

Rosamond  looked  around  the  room  in  half-terror. 
She  was  so  tired!  You  can't  fight  a  world  forever 
that  only  opposes  a  calm  "  because  "  to  your  "  why 
not?" 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  said  under  her  breath. 

Then  she  became  aware  that  Mr.  Squire  was  an 
swering  for  her,  and  that  Cousin  George  was  giving 
him  the  respectful  attention  he  always  vouchsafed 
men ;  especially  prosperous-looking  ones. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Hoskins,"  he  was  saying,  and 
for  once  Rosamond  was  glad  of  that  deliberate, 
weight-carrying  manner  of  his,  "  but  what  you  pro- 


THE  MERRY  ZINGARA  235 

pose  is  impossible  without  forfeiture  of  contract." 

Such  beautiful  big  businesslike  words!  And  they 
seemed  actually  to  affect  Cousin  George. 

"  The  deed  under  which  Miss  Gilbert  bought  this 
place  of  me,"  went  on  the  Squire,  "  especially  stipu 
lates  that  she  shall  not  rent  it  to  any  one  in  the  sum 
mer.  I  am  sure  you  don't  want  your  cousin  to  lose 
her  property." 

Cousin  George  snorted. 

"  What  an  immoral  contract ! "  he  growled.  *'  No 
one  but  a  foolish  girl  would  be  deceived  into  signing 
it." 

"  Nevertheless,"  went  on  Mr.  Squire  very  firmly, 
and  with  his  lips  very  straight,  as  if  he  were  getting 
a  certain  youthful  enjoyment  out  of  it,  "I  must  in 
sist  on  the  fulfilment  of  the  contract." 

And  Cousin  George  gave  up. 

"  Nothing  can  be  done,  then,"  he  admitted.  "  Un 
less —  I'll  tell  you,  Anne  Rosamond.  There's  only 
one  thing  to  do.  Your  cousin  and  I  will  come  down 
and  stay  with  you  this  summer.  There  isn't  any  fool 
clause  —  "  Cousin  George  glared  respectfully  at  Mr. 
Squire,  who  still  sat  wrapt  in  the  perfect  business 
calm  that  was  his  on  occasion,  "  there  isn't  any  fool 
clause  in  our  deed  about  renting.  We'll  pay  you 
board,  Anne  Rosamond,  or  we  can  balance  it  against 
your  board  next  winter." 

"  Anything,  so  I  can't  have  my  harmless  own  way !  " 
said  Rosamond. 


236  WHY  NOT? 

Mr.  Squire  spoke  again,  and  Rosamond  was  certain 
she  heard  a  subdued  elderly  chuckle  from  the  chair 
which  held  the  decorous  Martha. 

"  The  deed  forbids  that,  too,  Mr.  Hoskins.  No 
boarders  may  be  taken." 

Rosamond  looked  at  John  Squire  in  unmitigated 
admiration.  Was  it  possible  that  any  deed  ever 
evolved  by  the  mind  of  man  could  be  so  suited  to  an 
occasion?  She  did  remember  vaguely  some  condi 
tions  of  his  of  the  sort,  which  he  had  mentioned  when 
he  sold  the  house  to  her,  but  she  had  never  thought 
about  them  again.  She  was  quite  prepared  to  hear 
him  announce  with  the  same  businesslike  calm  that  the 
deed  forbade  Cousin  George  to  scold  her,  on  pain  of 
forfeiting  his  own  property.  And  she  had  come  to 
the  place  where  she  knew  if  Mr.  Squire  said  so  Cousin 
George  would  believe  that,  too.  But  why,  why,  why 
on  earth  wasn't  her  landlord  joining  forces  with 
Cousin  George,  his  natural  ally?  Why  had  he  given 
the  impression,  which  Cousin  George  had  plainly  ac 
cepted,  that  he  and  Martha  had  chaperoned  her  to 
an  impossible  extent  ?  The  world  was  certainly  turn 
ing  upside  down.  .  .  »  Yes,  it  was,  for  Cousin  George 
was  going! 

"  I  should  like  to  talk  to  you  a  little  further,"  he 
was  saying  to  John  Squire  with  undiminished  respect. 
"  If  you  will  walk  a  little  way  back  with  me  toward 
the  dock,  while  I  wait  for  the  motor-launch.  These 
lots  look  to  me  as  if  they  were  ripe  for  development." 


THE  MERRY  ZINGARA  237 

A  look  of  mutual  horror  at  the  idea  of  "  develop 
ing  "  their  beloved  woodlands  along  Cousin  George's 
two-family  house  lines  flashed  from  John  Squire's 
eyes  to  Rosamond's.  But  Mr.  Squire  rose  neverthe 
less  to  accompany  Cousin  George.  Martha  made  no 
move  to  go. 

"  I'll  stay  here,  Master  Johnnie,"  she  said.  "  I 
find  I'm  a  little  tired.  You  will  come  back  for  me, 
won't  you  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  can,"  he  said,  giving  her  an  affec 
tionate  look  as  he  went  out  behind  Cousin  Jenny. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

LOOKING   AFTER   MARTHA 

COUSIN  JENNY,  meanwhile,  had  kissed  Rosa 
mond  again  before  she  rose  up  to  follow  her 
lord. 

"  Write  me  as  often  as  you  can,  dearie,"  she  whis 
pered.  "  I've  had  more  pleasure  out  of  that  lantern 
—  you  can't  think !  Not  but  what  I  needed  a  dress- 
pattern  more,"  she  added  hastily  as  in  duty  bound. 
"  I  miss  you  dreadfully,  dear." 

"  I  wish  you  could  be  here  with  me,"  Rosamond 
returned.  "  Good-bye,  dear.  Yes,  I'll  write." 

She  had  written  as  fully  as  she  could,  ever  since  she 
had  left.  It  was  a  drawback,  though,  to  freedom  of 
correspondence  that  Cousin  George  always  opened 
and  read  his  wife's  mail. 

"  She's  welcome  to  read  all  mine,"  was  his  argu 
ment  in  favour  of  it,  the  fact  that  he  never  got  any 
thing  but  requests  for  estimates  having  nothing  to  do 
with  the  case  in  his  eyes. 

Rosamond,  left  alone  with  Martha,  knelt  down  and 
put  her  arms  around  the  old  woman. 

"  You  darling ! "  she  said.  "  I  know  it  was  all 
238 


LOOKING  AFTER  MARTHA  239 

your  doing.  Oh,  Martha,  I'm  so  glad  you  and  Mr. 
Squire  kept  them  from  carrying  me  off  to  their 
den-o." 

"  It  wasn't  I  specially,"  denied  Martha.  "  I  never 
said  a  word  to  Master  Johnnie.  He  don't  want  you 
carried  off  no  more  than  I  do.  Why  should  he?" 

"  Because  I'm  a  bother  to  him,"  said  Rosamond 
mournfully.  "  I'm  sure  I  worry  the  life  out  of 
him.  ...  I  wonder  why  it  worries  everybody  so  when 
you  do  things  they  don't  do?  Lots  of  people  do 
things  that  I  don't,  but  I  never  worry  about  it,  or 
try  to  make  them  live  in  bungalows  on  lakes,  and  tell 
fortunes  and  keep  bloodhounds." 

"  There's  very  few  like  you,  Miss  Rosamond,"  said 
Martha  admiringly,  and  then  caught  her  breath. 
"  Would  you  mind  just  opening  my  reticule  over 
there  and  getting  out  my  aromatics  ?  "  she  added  in 
a  catching  voice. 

Rosamond  flew  to  mix  her  some  ammonia  and  water, 
and  helped  her  to  the  couch  near  by.  The  attack 
passed  over  in  a  minute,  and  Martha  sat  up,  still 
panting  a  little. 

"Don't  tell  Master  Johnnie,"  she  said.  "  It'll 
only  worry  him,  poor  boy." 

Rosamond  promised  not  to,  rather  against  her  will. 
But  she  resolved  to  leave  the  spirits  of  ammonia  where 
Mr.  Squire  could  not  fail  to  see  it  and  ask  why  it  was 
there. 

"  I  wonder  why  people  always  take  him  for  such  a 


240  WHY  NOT? 

staid,  trustworthy,  conventional  citizen?  "  she  mused, 
going  over  to  the  window  to  watch  for  him.  "  He 
was  enjoying  the  mischief  just  as  much  as  I  was, 
while  he  was  bluffing  Cousin  George.  And  he's 
almost  like  a  boy,  some  ways,  just  get  far  erough 
under  that  stately  grown-up-ness  —  the  way  he  was 
never  going  to  speak  to  me  again,  and  now  getting 
me  out  of  trouble  with  both  hands,  like  an  angel  of 
light !  I  never  met  anybody  like  him  in  my  life.  .  .  . 
And  he's  just  as  big,  inside,  as  he  is  out.  So  many 
great  big  men  that  look  like  statues  of  Hercules  and 
all  the  rest  of  the  people  in  the  picture-books,  are 
such  tiny  little  things  inside!  .  .  •  If  he  only  could 
believe  just  that  one  little  impossibility  about  me! 
I  wish  they'd  brought  him  up  to  believe  in  fairies.  .  .  . 
And  I  thought  him  just  the  kind  of  a  person  Cousin 
George  does  now,  when  I  first  knew  him,  and  for  quite 
awhile  afterwards.  „  .  .  Martha!  Why  does  every 
body  treat  your  Master  Johnnie  as  if  he  was  a  very 
elderly  gentlman  to  be  given  much  respect?  I  mean, 
except  you  —  and  me." 

"  On  account  of  his  mother,  Miss  Rosamond," 
Martha  answered  readily,  seeming  to  understand  ex 
actly  what  Rosamond  meant.  "  Others  have  noticed 
that,  too.  He  took  care  of  Mrs.  Squire  so  long,  and 
stayed  by  her  so  close,  that  he  got  to  act  older  than 
his  years." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  people  think  he's  much  older 
than  he  is,"  returned  Rosamond  negligently.  "  I  im- 


LOOKING  AFTER  MARTHA 

agine  he  looks  about  his  age.  Only  he  seems — < 
settled,  sort  of." 

She  turned  a  little  as  she  spoke,  to  watch  for  him 
again.  Settled  or  unsettled,  he  had  been  a  perfect 
tower  of  strength,  and  she  felt  inconveniently  grate 
ful.  For  it  is  inconvenient  to  feel  gratitude  toward 
a  benefactor  who  still  considers  you  a  wayward  and 
unrepentant  person. 

He  was  evidently  having  something  of  a  conference 
with  Cousin  George,  the  vanquished;  or  perhaps  he 
was  merely  being  polite,  and  keeping  them  company 
till  the  motor-launch  came  by  on  its  half-hourly  cir 
cuit.  It  did  not  stop  at  Rosamond's  little  dock,  ex 
cept  on  signal,  so  it  had  to  be  watched  for. 

She  was  still  leaning  and  dreaming  by  the  window, 
and  watching  for  John  Squire's  broad  shoulders  to 
rise  above  the  slope  of  the  path,  when  a  little  moan 
from  Martha  made  her  hurry  over  to  the  couch  again. 
Martha's  hand  was  at  her  side,  and  her  breath  was 
coming  short  again. 

"  It's  bad  once  more,"  she  said  with  difficulty.  "  I 
expect  you'll  have  —  to  get  —  the  doctor." 

Her  lips  were  blue  and  her  face  drawn.  It  evi 
dently  hurt  badly. 

Rosamond  was  a  good  nurse.  In  a  flash  she  had 
Martha's  clothes  loosened  and  her  corset  unclasped. 
She  gave  her  another  dose  of  ammonia,  and  banked 
the  pillows  high  behind  her.  Then  she  telephoned 
for  the  doctor,  whose  name  Martha  managed  to  give 


WHY  NOT? 

her.  She  filled  a  hot  water  bottle  and  put  it  to  her 
patient's  cold  feet.  Then  having  done  all  she  could 
think  of,  she  sat  rubbing  Martha's  hands  to  get  the 
circulation  started,  while  she  waited  anxiously  for  the 
doctor  and  John  Squire. 

The  doctor,  thanks  to  a  swift  motor-car,  got  there 
first.  It  seemed  like  ages  to  Rosamond,  afraid  every 
moment  that  Martha  would  have  another  paroxysm. 
But  he  said  that  Rosamond  had  done  all  the  right 
things. 

"  You  aren't  living  here  now,  Mrs.  Lillie,  are 
you?"  he  asked.  (It  was  Rosamond's  first  intima 
tion  that  Martha  had  ever  possessed  a  last  name.) 

Martha  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  —  altogether,"  she  said  painfully.  "  I've 
been  here  on  and  off  looking  after  this  young  lady." 

"Ah,  yes,  I  see,"  said  the  doctor.  "All  the 
better,  because  you  can't  be  moved  over  to  Squire's ; 
not  for  some  days.  The  jolting  over  that  little  path 
through  the  wood  would  be  too  much  for  you.  This 
young  lady,  Miss  — " 

"  Gilbert,"  Rosamond  supplied,  flushing  a  little  at 
the  doctor's  look  of  more  than  ordinary  interest,  and 
then  remembering  that  her  gipsy-dress  would  account 
for  his  keen  inspection. 

"Miss  Gilbert,"  went  on  the  doctor,  " — thank 
you  —  can  arrange  to  have  you  sleep  on  this  floor, 
I  hope.  Can  it  be  managed?  "  he  asked  Rosamond. 

"  I  have  a  room  that  can  be  turned  into  a  bed- 


LOOKING  AFTER  MARTHA 

room,  easily,"  she  said,  still  rubbing  Martha's  hands, 
for  it  seemed  to  relieve  the  old  woman.  "  Mr.  Squire 
will  be  back  soon,  I  am  sure,  and  he  can  arrange 
about  it.  He's  down  at  the  dock,  seeing  my  people 
off." 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  see,"  said  the  doctor  again.  He 
seemed  a  pleasant  person,  but  given  to  watching  you 
intently. 

Just  then  Mr.  Squire  did  come  back,  and  took  in 
everything  at  a  glance. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come,"  said  Rosamond, 
flinging  the  last  vestige  of  feud  to  the  winds  in  her 
joy  at  having  a  helper.  "  Can  you  go  down  cellar 
and  bring  up  the  cot  Martha  slept  on  the  first  night 
she  was  here,  and  put  it  in  the  little  room  behind  the 
living-room  —  the  one  I  use  for  a  dining-room  now  ?  " 

"  You'd  better  take  some  directions  from  me,  first, 
John,"  said  the  doctor  good-naturedly.  "  To  begin 
with,  as  I  was  telling  Miss  Gilbert,  Mrs.  Lillie  can't 
be  moved  yet  awhile,  not  even  carried  up-stairs.  *If 
you  would  like  to  have  a  trained  nurse  for  her  I  think 
I  can  get  you  Miss  Atkins,  though  there's  really  noth-' 
ing  that  one  of  the  maids  couldn't  do." 

John  Squire  sat  down  on  the  couch  a  little  back  of 
Martha,  who  seemed  to  rest  more  easily  against  his 
shoulder.  Rosamond,  forgetful  still  of  her  gipsy 
finery,  knelt  by  her,  still  rubbing  her  hands. 

"  She'll  be  well  taken  care  of,  I  can  see  that,"  said 
the  doctor,  smiling.  "  And  now  you  can  go  down 


244  WHY  NOT? 

and  get  the  cot  as  your  liege  lady  orders,  John." 

Rosamond  looked  startled,  for  as  John  Squire  rose 
she  saw  him  colour  as  hotly  as  she  could  have  done 
herself.  His  skin  was  so  very  white  where  it  was  not 
ruddy  that  when  he  changed  colour  it  showed  as  if 
he  had  been  a  woman.  But  the  doctor,  who  was  an 
exceedingly  busy  man,  went  on  giving  directions  on 
his  own  account,  and  hurried  off.  Squire,  who  nat 
urally  knew  a  good  deal  about  the  twists  and  turns 
of  his  own  late  bungalow,  went  down  cellar  without 
more  words  than  a  brief  good-bye  to  the  doctor, 
brought  up  the  cot  for  Martha,  carried  it  to  its  des 
tination  and  set  it  up  efficiently. 

"  If  you'll  stay  by  Martha  now,  I'll  make  it  up," 
suggested  Rosamond,  and  went  up-stairs  for  bed- 
covering  while  he  took  up  his  old  position  on  the 
couch. 

It  was  not  until  she  had  the  sheets  and  blankets 
in  a  high  pile  in  her  arms,  and  was  carrying  them 
precariously  down-stairs,  that  she  thought  to  wonder 
what  the  doctor  had  meant,  when  he  made  John 
Squire  blush  so.  He  had  assumed  that  —  good 
gracious,  but  that  was  nonsense !  And  it  was  prob 
ably  pure  imagination  anyway.  That  doctor  couldn't 
have  meant  anything  of  the  sort,  and  if  he  did  he  was 
crazy. 

"  It's  ridiculous,"  said  Rosamond  aloud  with  her 
own  cheeks  scarlet,  spilling  two  pillows  and  a  blanket 
in  the  agitation  of  her  feelings. 


LOOKING  AFTER  MARTHA 

"  What  is  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Squire,  laying  Martha 
gently  back  and  coming  over  to  pick  up  the  pillows. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Rosamond. 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  he  said  hurriedly,  and  they 
both  coloured  again.  "  Just  now  the  principal  thing 
is  to  keep  Martha  quiet  and  comfortable,"  he  added 
hastily.  "  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  turn  your  house  into 
a  hospital.  It  is  the  worst  aggression  on  your  rights 
yet,  isn't  it?  But  it  will  have  to  be  so  for  a  few 
days." 

"  Why,  of  course  it  will ! "  responded  Rosamond 
quickly.  "  I'll  love  taking  care  of  her.  Please  — " 
she  hesitated  a  moment,  "  it  would  be  rather  a  comfort 
to  prove  to  you  that  I  wasn't  —  well,  such  an  abso 
lutely  insane  person  as  you  think." 

"  Mr.  Squire  smiled  at  her  over  the  pillows,  and 
actually  began  to  quote  poetry. 

"  Oh,  woman,  in  thine  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy  and  hard  to  please — " 

he  began  half-teasingly. 

Rosamond  finished  it  for  him  before  she  thought, 
in  the  good  old  college  way: 

"  But  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  thy  face 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace !  " 

and  could  have  bitten  her  tongue  off.  It  was  too 
much  of  a  piece  with  what  that  horrid  doctor  had 
been  hinting,  and  bold  besides.  This  was  no  way  to 


246  WHY  NOT? 

make  an  impression  of  meekness  and  serviceability! 
But  Mr.  Squire  only  smiled  again. 

"  Exactly,"  said  he,  and  carried  the  pillows  in  for 
her. 

He  certainly  Tiad  declared  a  truce!  So  she  made 
up  Martha's  bed  swiftly  while  he  watched,  and  then 
asked  him  to  carry  Martha  in. 

He  lifted  his  housekeeper,  who  was  breathing  easily 
again,  and  carried  her  through  to  the  "  little  room 
back." 

"  Is  this  going  to  be  convenient  ?  "  he  stopped  to 
ask  when  he  had  laid  Martha  gently  on  the  cot.  Ros 
amond,  who  was  kneeling  behind  it  arranging  the 
covers,  looked  up  and  nodded  brightly. 

"  The  door  through  to  the  kitchen  makes  it  easy 
to  have  things  carried  to  and  fro,"  she  said.  "  We 
can  keep  the  door  between  this  and  the  living-room 
closed,  so  that  the  noises  we  make  won't  bother  her." 

"  But  this  is  the  room  you  and  Allie  use  for  your 
dining-room,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"We  can  have  our  meals  in  the  living-room  per 
fectly  well,"  she  said.  "  We  do  half  the  time  any 
way." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  he  said  again,  and  bent 
over  Martha  to  ask  her  how  she  felt. 

"  Pretty  well  now,"  Martha  answered.  "  Nice  and 
easy.  I  think  I  could  sleep  a  bit." 

He  turned  and  took  up  the  little  table  bell  which, 
as  there  was  no  one  to  ring  it  for,  always  stayed  on 


LOOKING  AFTER  MARTHA  247 

the  sideboard.  He  set  it  on  a  chair  by  Martha,  got 
her  a  glass  of  water,  and  then  kissed  her  —  all  quite 
naturally  and  quietly. 

Rosamond  had  never  seen  him  indoors  for  more 
than  a  few  minutes  at  a  time;  never  at  all  when  he 
was  moving  about  doing  things.  She  had  somehow 
become  possessed  of  the  idea  that  he  would  be  clumsy 
inside  a  house.  There  was  such  an  unmistakable  air 
of  outdoors  and  big  spaces  about  him.  But  here  he 
was,  looking  after  Martha  as  deftly  and  efficiently  as 
Rosamond  herself  could  have  done. 

"  We'll  leave  you  to  sleep  a  little  now,"  he  told 
Martha.  "  If  you  want  anything,  ring  the  little  bell 
and  some  one  will  come." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dears,"  said  Martha  drowsily. 

They  went  back  to  the  living-room,  and  Mr.  Squire 
sat  down  on  the  "  other  settle,"  as  Rosamond  always 
called  to  herself  the  one  she  and  Allie  never  used. 
The  fireplace  was  empty.  The  rain  was  still  falling, 
and  it  was  cold  enough  to  have  made  the  heat  of  a 
fire  a  comfort,  if  there  had  been  any. 

John  Squire  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  andirons. 

"  There  ought  to  be  a  fire  here,"  he  observed.  "  I'll 
make  you  up  one  in  a  minute." 

Rosamond  sat  down  on  her  settle  and  said  "  thank 
you "  with  a  matter-of-factness  equal  to  his.  He 
took  the  wood  out  of  the  fire-box  without  further  com 
ment,  and  had  a  fire  blazing  comfortably  before  he 
said  anything  more. 


248  WHY  NOT? 

"  But  I  wasn't  thinking  about  the  inconvenience 
for  Martha,"  he  said  as  if  he  had  broken  off  the  con 
versation  at  just  that  point  the  moment  before.  "  It 
was  the  inconvenience  to  you  I  meant.  Of  course 
I'll  send  two  of  the  maids  over,  one  to  look  after 
Martha  and  one  for  the  work,  but  it's  going  to  be  a 
worry  for  you  at  best.  When  Martha  has  these  at 
tacks  she  sometimes  has  to  keep  still  for  a  week  or 
ten  days.  And  I'll  have  to  be  coming  in  and  out  a 
lot.  I'm  really  exceedingly  sorry." 

Rosamond  glanced  up  at  him  and  laughed  irre- 
pressibly. 

"  You've  managed  to  establish  Martha  here  as  res 
ident  chaperon  in  spite  of  me,  haven't  you  ?  "  she  said 
mischievously.  "  Now  don't  explain,"  as  he  began 
to  speak,  " '  never  explain  and  never  confess,'  as  the 
Advice  to  the  Lovelorn  says.  I  know  perfectly  well 
that  you  didn't  tell  Martha  to  have  a  heart-attack  on 
purpose.  And  I  know  that  its  happening  this  way 
worries  you  lots  more  than  it  does  me.  Indeed — " 
she  laughed  a  little  again  — "  indeed  it's  rather  nice 
to  have  some  one  here  to  pet.  Allie  is  getting  to  be 
so  well  brought  up  that  she  doesn't  need  a  thing. 
Good  gracious,  it's  almost  six,  and  where  do  you  sup 
pose  that  child  is?  I'd  forgotten  all  about  her  in  the 
excitement  of  looking  after  Martha." 

"  Over  at  my  house,"  said  he.  "  At  least  I'm 
tolerably  sure  of  it.  She  came  in  with  the  dogs  this 
afternoon,  when  she  told  me  your  people  were  over 


LOOKING  AFTER  MARTHA  249 

here.  She  asked  if  she  might  stay  and  watch  the 
cook  do  something  or  other,  and  Martha  said  she 
might.  She's  doubtless  there  still." 

"  Oh,  then  it's  all  right,"  Rosamond  answered, 
sinking  back  relievedly.  She  had  half  sprung  up  in 
her  anxiety. 

"  And  now,"  said  he,  relaxing  a  little  too,  "  for 
arrangements." 

He  leaned  back  on  the  settle  in  a  way  that  sug 
gested  that  he  fitted  it  precisely. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  and  the  settle  had  been  built 
to  match  each  other,"  observed  Rosamond  irrele 
vantly.  It  was  getting  dusk,  and  she  could  just  see 
him,  a  Rembrantesque  effect  of  shadows  and  fire-re 
flected  high  lights. 

"  I'm  much  the  settle's  senior,"  he  answered, 
stretching  out  his  hand  and  arm  along  the  settle's 
back,  "  but  I  suppose  it's  an  affectionate  article  of 
furniture,  and  still  remembers  its  old  master.  I  sat 
just  where  I'm  sitting  now  most  of  my  evenings  for 
three  winters." 

The  fire  flared  high  and  lighted  up  both  their 
figures  for  the  moment,  Rosamond's  slim,  fantastic 
gipsy-guise,  and  John  Squire's  broad  shoulders  and 
strong,  intent  face,  bent  down  a  little,  and  a  little 
smiling,  as  if  he  were  contented. 

They  were  both  still  for  a  little  while;  a  silence 
wherein  they  felt  at  peace  with  the  world  and  each 
other. 


250  WHY  NOT? 

"  You  said  something  about  arrangements,"  Ros 
amond  reminded  him  presently. 

He  sat  straight  with  a  little  laugh,  as  if  he  were 
coming  back  from  some  sort  of  a  daydream. 

"  So  I  did,"  he  assented.  "  I  was  going  to  say 
that  the  maids  had  better  stay  here  at  night,  or  at 
least  Dora,  who  will  do  the  nursing.  Annie  will  do 
the  housework.  She  can  sleep  here  or  at  home  as  is 
most  convenient  for  you.  They're  both  good  girls, 
and  I  think  I  can  promise  that  they'll  be  as  little 
trouble  as  possible  under  the  circumstances." 

"  They  won't  be  any  trouble,"  she  answered  em 
phatically.  "  To  be  frank  with  you,  the  idea  of 
somebody  washing  all  my  dishes  for  the  next  ten  days 
is  almost  too  beautiful  to  contemplate  without  tears. 
If  I  hadn't  had  Allie  to  set  an  example  to,  I  should 
have  done  the  way  men  do  long  ago;  used  up  every 
dish  in  the  house  and  then  fled  and  hired  a  woman 
to  do  them  all  at  once !  " 

"  I'm  glad  Annie  can  be  that  much  use  to  you, 
then,"  he  answered  relievedly.  "  And  about  Allie, 
don't  you  think  she  might  as  well  stay  over  at  the 
house  till  Martha  is  better?  She's  attached  to 
Martha,  but  for  that  very  reason  she  might  be  in  the 
sick-room  too  much  for  Martha's  comfort." 

Rosamond  might  have  flared  up  at  this  if  she  had 
been  in  a  flaring  mood,  but  she  wasn't,  and  it  struck 
her  as  a  plain  statement  of  fact,  and  a  very  sensible 


LOOKING  AFTER  MARTHA  251 

one.  She  merely  inquired  if  he  thought  the  dogs  had 
better  stay  there  too. 

"  The  bloodhound  if  you  like,"  he  said,  and  they 
smiled  mutually,  as  they  always  did  at  the  remem 
brance  of  the  day  of  the  bloodhound's  introduction. 
"  But  unless  the  little  dog  is  in  your  way  here  — " 

"  In  my  way  ?  "  she  cried.  "  My  heart's  broken 
if  he's  out  of  my  sight  an  afternoon.  He  always 
sleeps  on  the  foot  of  my  bed.  I  was  thinking  of 
Martha." 

"  That's  aU  right,  then,"  he  said.  "  And  now  I'll 
go  and  send  over  the  maids.  I  suppose  you  would 
like  to  see  Allie  to-night  and  give  her  your  orders  — 
and  probably  her  clothes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  please,"  she  said,  getting  up  as  he  did. 
"And  — Mr.  Squire!" 

He  turned  back,  nearly  at  the  door. 

"What  is  it?" 

Rosamond  came  over  to  him,  an  uncertain,  flashing 
figure  in  the  firelight,  with  the  red  reflections  of  the 
flame  on  her  ornaments.  There  was  a  soft  clash  of 
bangles  as  she  moved. 

"  Hadn't  we  better  bury  the  hatchet  for  a  little 
while,  please?  If  you  can  just  pretend  that  I  never 
did  anything  you  disapproved  of,  and  I'll  pretend 
5 — whatever  needs  to  be  pretended  on  my  side,"  she 
finished,  remembering  that  if  she  specified  anything 
particular  she  had  to  forgive,  there  might  be  an 


252  WHY  NOT? 

argument,  and  the  hatchet  hopelessly  hurled  above 
ground  again. 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her. 

"  Very  gladly,"  he  said. 

She  laid  her  hand  in  his,  that  live,  gay  little  warm 
hand  that  could  almost  say  things  all  by  itself. 

"  Then  come  back  to  supper,"  she  said  unexpect 
edly.  "  You'll  be  lonesome  having  yours  all  alone, 
wondering  how  Martha  is.  And  I  won't  believe  in 
the  hatchet-funeral  till  you  do." 

She  expected  him  to  argue,  but  no  argument  ap 
peared  to  be  necessary. 

"  Thank  you !  "  he  said,  and  went  out  smiling. 

"  Well,  he  has  certainly  been  an  angel  of  light  this 
afternoon ! "  said  she,  tiptoeing  softly  back  to  see  if 
Martha  needed  anything  she  could  give  her. 

She  found  the  old  woman  awake,  but  feeling  very 
quiet  and  comfortable.  She  went  upstairs  and  got 
night-things  for  her,  and  had  her  comfortably  settled 
for  the  night  in  a  few  minutes.  Then  at  last  she  re 
membered  her  own  wild  attire,  and  ran  up  again  to 
change  it.  She  might  have  to  be  up  quite  late,  so 
it  was  worth  while,  she  thought. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

NIGHT   WATCHES 

SHE  put  on  the  demure  little  grey  dress  that  she 
had  used  to  give  Jim  Mattison  an  impression 
of  sedateness,  apron  and  all.  Then,  finding  that  she 
still  had  time  on  her  hands,  she  went  down  and  began 
to  get  supper  (or  it  might  have  been  dinner,  she 
wasn't  sure  which  yet)  herself.  She  should  have  been 
very  tired,  but  something,  a  queer  exhilaration  or 
excitement,  was  keeping  her  up.  She  felt  as  if  she 
never  wanted  to  rest  again. 

"  There's  some  point  to  getting  meals  for  some 
body  besides  just  Allie  and  me,"  she  mused.  "  I  sup 
pose  it's  always  more  interesting,  cooking  for  a  man. 
I  wish  I  knew  how  much  seasoning  he  likes." 

But  there  was  no  way  of  finding  out,  except  the 
not  to  be  thought  of  one  of  waking  Martha,  so  all 
Rosamond  could  do  was  to  make  the  cream  of  celery 
soup  and  the  potatoes  au  gratin  the  way  she  liked 
them,  and  postpone  the  chops  and  salad-dressing  till 
the  eater  of  the  meal  came  back.  It  seemed  rather 
a  long  wait.  It  was  fully  eight,  and  very  dark  and 

rainy,  before  her  door  flew  open  and  John  Squire 

253 


WHY  NOT? 

strode  in  dripping  and  dishevelled.  Behind  him  came 
the  maids,  Annie  and  Dora. 

"  Rosamond,  we  can't  find  Allie  anywhere !  "  he  ex 
claimed,  forgetting  to  use  the  prefix  in  his  excite 
ment.  "  I've  been  hunting  the  child  ever  since  I  left, 
and  so  has  Williams.  We've  been  down  to  Mrs.  Sim 
mons'  and  up  the  road  in  the  other  direction  for 
three  miles.  I've  ransacked  the  house.  I  didn't  want 
to  worry  you  if  it  could  be  helped.  But  she's  lost. 
Have  you  any  idea  where  she  might  have  gone  —  her 
usual  haunts,  I  mean?  " 

For  a  moment  Rosamond's  heart  sank.  But  Mr. 
Squire,  standing  there  with  the  beads  of  rain  on  his 
tossed  black  hair,  and  the  worried  frown  on  his  fore 
head,  looked  as  if  he  needed  cheerings  up  much  more 
than  he  did  lamentings.  So  she  answered  cheerfully, 
though  she  was  alarmed  herself. 

"  She's  a  self-reliant  little  thing,  and  if  she's  lost 
she  very  likely  knows  the  way  home  from  where  she's 
gone.  She  may  only  be  mislaid.  Let  me  think.  .  .  . 
And  don't  worry  about  her.  You  have  enough  to 
trouble  you  without  bothering  about  my  orphan  — 
poor  little  darling ! " 

She  stood  and  thought  quietly  for  a  moment,  while 
the  maids,  competent  middle-aged  persons^  went 
quietly  about  their  several  duties.  She  looked  up  in 
a  moment. 

"  Did  you  telephone  Dick  Jerrold's  hotel  ?  "  she 
asked. 


NIGHT  WATCHES 

"  No,  by  Jove,  I  didn't ! "  said  he,  going  to  the 
telephone.  "  She's  as  likely  to  be  there  as  any 
where." 

He  got  Richard,  and  inquired  briefly  for  the  lost 
lamb.  "  Good !  "  Rosamond  heard  him  say  in  a  voice 
of  relief.  ..."  By  nine  ?  Certainly,  that's  good  of 
you.  .  .  .  Yes,  the  bungalow." 

"  Is  she  there  ?  "  demanded  Rosamond  anxiously. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  the  little  monkey !  Walked  in 
an  hour  after  you'd  gone,  he  says,  and  demanded  to 
be  allowed  to  tell  fortunes  too !  He  cut  that  short, 
but  just  then  there  was  no  one  to  send  up  with  her, 
so  one  of  the  women  there  took  charge  of  her.  He'll 
bring  her  and  the  dog  up  in  about  an  hour." 

"Oh!"  cried  Rosamond,  "I'm  so  g-glad!"  and 
proved  it  by  dropping  on  the  settle  and  beginning  to 
cry. 

He  was  over  by  her  in  an  instant. 

"  Miss  Rosamond  —  Rosamond,  don't  cry  that 
way!  It's  all  right,  the  child's  safe,  and  she'll  be 
here  shortly.  There's  nothing  to  feel  badly  about. 
Please  don't  cry." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  in  his  distress. 
The  touch  felt  comforting,  and  Rosamond,  between 
words  and  touch,  pulled  herself  together,  found  her 
handkerchief  and  dried  her  eyes.  She  hoped  she 
hadn't  cried  enough  to  do  much  damage.  She  was 
lucky  enough  to  be  able  to  cry  moderately  without 
showing  it  badly. 


256  WHY  NOT? 

"I  don't  think  it  was  any  one  thing,"  she  ex 
plained.  "  But  this  has  been  a  —  well,  rather  a  field 
day.  You  see,  there  was  Cousin  George;  and  the 
fortune-telling  was  rather  tiring,  so  much  at  a  stretch. 
And  I  was  a  little  frightened  about  Martha.  Then 
Allie  on  top  of  it  all,  though  it  was  only  for  a  few 
minutes  I  was  worried  —  you're  very  thoughtful  — 
and  —  oh,  where's  Darling?  " 

"  Darling?  "  he  echoed  perplexedly. 

66  My  little  doggie  you  gave  me,"  she  explained  with 
a  touch  of  embarrassment.  "  I  called  him  that  be 
cause  he  was.  Where  is  he?  " 

"  The  spaniel?  Annie  brought  him  in  that  basket 
she  carried,"  Mr.  Squire  reassured  her.  "  I  thought 
you  knew.  She  carried  him  out  with  her  to  the 
kitchen." 

"  Oh,  thank  you ! "  said  Rosamond,  and  remem 
bered  that  there  was  a  mirror,  too,  in  the  kitchen. 
"  Do  you  want  to  straighten  up  a  little  before  we 
have  supper?  "  she  suggested.  "  There's  everything 
for  that  in  the  guest-room,  the  one  on  the  west  end." 

"  That's  my  own  old  room,"  said  he  unexpectedly. 
"  I  expect  I  do  look  like  the  deuce." 

He  didn't.  He  was  rather  better-looking  than 
usual,  with  his  curly  black  hair  tossed  and  damp,  and 
a  general  air  of  being  unbent  about  him ;  even  if  he 
did  have  mud  on  one  cheek  and  all  across  his  shoulder. 

"  You're  rather  nicer  when  you  look  like  the 
deuce,"  dared  Rosamond  over  her  shoulder  as  she 


NIGHT  WATCHES  257 

slipped  into  the  kitchen.  "  I'm  not  so  afraid  of 
you." 

She  heard  him  running  up  the  stairs,  and  thought 
he  had  a  very  quick,  light  step  for  such  a  tall  man. 

Out  in  the  kitchen,  she  found,  there  was  nothing 
for  her  to  do  but  to  pat  her  hair  a  little,  and  commend 
Annie.  Dora,  who  was  a  rather  pretty  Irishwoman, 
was  just  arranging  a  tray  to  be  taken  in  to  Martha, 
and  Annie  was  putting  a  little  more  salt  in  the  soup. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Rosamond.  "  I  was  going  to 
ask  you  about  that.  You  may  serve  the  meal  directly 
now." 

Annie,  who  seemed  disposed  to  like  her,  smiled  and 
said  she  would.  And  Rosamond,  after  a  word  with 
Martha,  went  back  to  wait  for  Mr.  Squire. 

He  was  down  in  a  few  minutes,  his  ordinary  im 
maculate  self,  except  that  hard  brushing  hadn't  quite 
conquered  the  tendency  of  his  still  damp  hair  to  lie 
straight.  It  still  waved  so  much  that  a  little  push 
would  have  made  it  curl  again.  Rosamond  liked 
curly  hair,  and  only  the  shades  of  all  her  well- 
brought-up  ancestors  kept  her  from  giving  it  the 
push. 

"  Did  you  find  everything  you  wanted  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Everything,"  he  replied  gravely,  "  even  a  box 
of  pink  powder  and  a  package  of  shell  hairpins. 
They  are  improvements  since  my  day." 

"  Oh,  aren't  truces  nice ! "  cried  Rosamond  irrele 
vantly,  her  whole  face  flashing  into  a  smile. 


258  WHY  NOT? 

"  Dinner  is  served,"  announced  Dora,  who  had  evi 
dently  considered  herself  appointed  to  do  the  wait 
ing. 

66  And  you  must  be  starved,"  said  Rosamond,  sit 
ting  down  at  the  table.  "  I  know  I  am." 

"  Yes,"  he  acknowledged  as  he  took  the  place 
opposite  her.  "And  —  I  quite  agree  with  you. 
Truces  are  nice." 

Neither  of  them  said  much  more  for  a  little  while, 
because  it  was  late,  and  they  were  both  unfeignedly 
hungry.  It  was  not  until  Dora  had  been  summoned 
(by  rapping  on  a  glass  with  a  knife,  because  Martha 
had  the  bell)  and  had  taken  away  the  soup  and 
brought  in  the  dinner  (it  turned  out  to  be  dinner 
after  all)  that  they  began  to  talk  again.  Rosamond, 
over  the  soup,  had  been  looking  furtively  at  her  com 
panion  and  meditating  on  the  strangeness  of  things 
in  general  and  life  in  particular.  The  day  before 
she  had  been  feeling  very  wronged  at  John  Squire, 
and  he  very  wronged,  to  put  it  mildly,  at  her.  And 
here  they  were  to-night,  hunting  the  same  lost  child, 
united  in  nursing  the  same  Martha,  and  sharing  their 
evening  meal  most  amicably  together! 

"  I  suppose  we  ought  both  of  us  to  hold  malice 
better,"  she  reflected,  and  eyed  Mr.  Squire  again. 

He  was  apparently  in  a  brown  study,  with  his  eyes 
on  the  peas  on  his  plate. 

"  They're  self-coloured,"  she  explained.  "  They're 
peas  out  of  pods.  I  don't  know  why  they're  so  dread- 


NIGHT  WATCHES  259 

fully  green,  but  it's  their  natural  complexion.  I 
wouldn't  think  of  having  the  canned  kind  this  time 
of  year.  Grand-Uncle  Alvin  never  let  me — " 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  about  peas,"  he  returned.  But 
instead  of  being  a  little  fretted,  as  he  usually  was  by 
her  attacks,  he  smiled.  "  I  was  thinking  how  strange 
it  was  that  you  and  I  were  at  swords'  points  yester 
day  —  and  here  we  are  to-night,  getting  on  as  peace 
fully  as  possible.  I  believe  we  could  do  it  for  quite 
an  indefinite  time,  with  a  little  effort  on  both  sides." 
He  spoke  quite  gravely,  looking  at  her  while  he  spoke 
with  an  expression  she  did  not  quite  understand.  It 
was  very  intent. 

But  she  took  what  he  said  quite  simply. 

"  Why,  how  curious  I  "  she  answered  brightly.  "  I 
was  just  thinking  that,  too." 

His  face  lightened  as  if  she  had  said  something  very 
wonderful. 

"  Were  you  ?  "  he  said  eagerly.  "  Were  you,  Ros 
amond?  " 

She  smiled  and  nodded.  The  idea  that  she  and 
the  Squire  were  close  enough  to  each  other  in  thought 
to  have  been  thinking  the  same  things  was  a  surpris 
ing  one. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  could  stand  on  my  rights  to 
night,  even  if  I  had  any,"  she  said  plaintively,  with 
a  little  demure  smile.  "  I'm  too  dreadfully  tired. 
More  bread?  " 

"  No,   thank   you,"   he    answered.     "  Would   you 


260  WHY  NOT? 

mind  telling  me  something?  "  he  went  on  more  lightly. 
"  Will  you  tell  me  why  you  started  toward  me  when 
I  came  down,  and  lifted  your  hand  as  if  you  wanted 
to  say  something,  or  do  something,  and  then  didn't 
say  it,  or  didn't  do  it.  I'd  rather  know  what  you 
were  thinking,  even  if  it's  unpleasant  —  if  we  are  go 
ing  to  get  on  peacefully." 

But  he  was  not  prepared  to  have  Rosamond,  in 
stead  of  frowning,  laugh  and  colour  and  shake  her 
head. 

"  Won't  you  tell  me?  "  he  asked.  "  In  you  own 
favourite  phrase  —  you  see  I'm  beginning  to  act  on 
it  —  there's  no  reason  why  not!" 

Rosamond  took  courage.  It  was  a  challenge  to 
her  principles.  But  it  was  much  harder  to  tell  the 
truth  than  if  it  had  been  such  a  dark  and  disagreeable 
thought  as  he  evidently  credited  her  with. 

"  I  — "  she  began,  and  stopped.  "  I  — "  she 
started  again.  Finally  she  made  herself  finish.  "  I 
just  wanted  your  hair  to  be  crumpled  up  again,  the 
way  it  was  when  you  came  in  out  of  the  rain,"  she  said 
defiantly.  "  It  looked  —  much  more  becoming.  It 
was  all  curly,  and  you've  worked  at  it  till  it's  almost 
as  neat  as  usual." 

He  looked  surprised  first,  then  he  smiled,  and  finally 
laughed  out  like  a  boy. 

"  And  I  thought  you  were  devising  some  new  in 
sult  !  "  he  said.  "  Miss  Anne  Rosamond  —  wasn't 
that  what  your  people  called  you  ?  —  I  certainly  beg 


NIGHT  WATCHES  261 

your  pardon.  As  you  justly  remark,  it  takes  man 
agement  to  get  it  neat,  but  — "  he  smiled  and  thrust 
his  hand  backward  through  his  thick  hair  — "  it's  a 
small  thing  to  do  for  a  lady  I've  practically  put  out 
of  house  and  home." 

"I  didn't  know  you  could  act  this  way,  or  talk 
this  way  either,"  she  said  in  impulsive  admiration. 
"Why  —  you're  splendid  to  be  friends  with!  .  .  . 
But  you  haven't  it  right  yet." 

He  rose  and  went  over  to  the  mirror  hanging  be 
tween  the  windows,  and  inspected  himself  with  atten 
tion. 

"I  didn't  know  exactly  what  effect  you  wanted, 
you  see,"  he  said,  eyeing  himself  in  the  glass  gravely. 

Rosamond  got  up  too,  and  stood  behind  him  and 
looked.  It  had  never  come  to  her  before,  but  when 
Mr.  Squire  smiled  he  was  handsome.  He  had  square, 
perfect  white  teeth  and  lips  that  looked  unexpectedly 
kind  when  they  relaxed  a  little. 

"  Show  me,"  he  asked,  wheeling. 

He  certainly  had  turned  into  a  very  different 
person. 

"  There  must  have  been  some  magic  spell  in  the 
chops,"  went  though  her  mind.  But  "Why  not?" 
she  thought  next.  "  Next  week  we'll  be  disapproving 
of  each  other  again.  We  really  ought  to  be  as 
much  friends  as  we  possibly  can  be  while  we  are 
friends." 

So  she  reached  up  and  gave  his  still  damp  hair  the 


262  WHY  NOT? 

right  kind  of  push —  a  little  gingerly,  because  she 
had  never  touched  a  man's  hair  before.  And  as  John 
Squire  was  six  feet  one  and  a  half,  and  she  was  a 
mere  scant  five-feet-eight,  she  had  quite  a  little  way 
to  reach  up.  But  she  persevered,  though  her  cheeks 
burned ;  and  Squire,  standing  still  with  the  little  smile 
yet  on  his  face,  was  exemplarily  patient.  , 

"  There ! "  said  Rosamond  in  triumph,  standing 
back  to  view  her  handiwork,  which  did  make  her  vic 
tim  more  picturesque,  if  not  so  neat. 

"Is  that  the  way  you  like  it?"  he  asked  doubt 
fully,  and  looked  in  the  glass  again  with  a  serious 
brow. 

"  Don't  touch  it,"  warned  Rosamond,  stepping  for 
ward  and  laying  three  fingers  on  his  arm  to  em 
phasise  her  command. 

And  it  was  then  that  Allie  pushed  open  the  door 
and  raced  in,  followed  by  Jerrold  and  the  bloodhound. 
What  Jerrold  saw,  in  view  of  what  he  had  lately 
seen,  was  surprising.  His  last  view  had  been  of  an 
angrily  flushed  Rosamond  in  gipsy-clothes,  going 
unwillingly  off  with  a  John  Squire  who  looked  grim 
enough  to  make  any  girl  unwilling  to  go.  And  here 
she  was,  gentle,  domestic,  soberly  clad,  and  smiling 
up  at  John  Squire  with  her  hand  on  his  arm.  And 
Squire  was  smiling  down  at  her  with  equal  good 
will,  and  they  had  obviously  been  dining  together, 
for  their  pushed-back  chairs  and  used  plates  told  the 
tale  of  a  nearly-finished  meal  eaten  in  amity. 


NIGHT  WATCHES  263 

"  Is  the  man  a  hypnotist  ? "  wondered  Jerrold 
within  himself. 

The  last  touch  was  given  to  the  picture  of  home 
life  when  both  man  and  girl  turned  to  Allie,  who 
rushed  at  them  with  the  joy  of  one  with  nothing  at 
all  on  her  conscience.  Rosamond  hugged  her  for 
givingly,  while  John  Squire  began  to  lecture  her  gently 
in  a  most  paternal  manner. 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  "  inquired  Jerrold,  as  a  gentle 
hint  that  he'd  like  to  be  spoken  to  when  they  were 
quite  finished  with  the  dog  and  Allie. 

"  Oh,  please  do ! "  cried  Rosamond,  coming  over 
and  holding  her  hand  out  in  welcome,  while  Allie  still 
clung  about  her  waist. 

"  Come  in  and  have  some  dinner.  Mr.  Squire, 
please  ring  for  Dora.  She  must  think  we've  for 
gotten  all  about  salad  and  dessert." 

"  So  we  had,"  said  he  placidly  as  he  went  to  the 
table  and  beat  on  a  tumbler  as  she  desired. 

"  Do  come  have  some  dinner,"  Rosamond  urged 
Jerrold  again. 

"  I've  had  dinner,  thank  you,"  he  answered  politely. 
«  So  has  Allie." 

"  I  could  eat  some  salad  and  dessert,  though,"  sug 
gested  Allie  herself,  taking  off  her  hat  and  sitting 
down.  "  So  could  Livy.  All  he  had  was  just  two 
bones." 

Richard,  too,  sat  down  finally,  and  finished  dinner 
with  them. 


264  WHY  NOT? 

"  Martha's  had  a  heart-attack  and  can't  be  moved," 
it  occurred  to  Rosamond  to  explain  as  she  served  the 
dessert.  "  So  her  retinue  is  with  me  —  Mr.  Squire 
and  two  maids.  I'm  quite  overwhelmed  by  the  maids. 
Mr.  Squire  used  to  overwhelm  me,  but  he  doesn't  any 
more." 

She  smiled  over  at  him  again  sunnily.  Indeed, 
just  now,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  Rosamond  felt  as  if 
she  owned  the  Squire.  He  had  been  so  beautifully 
docile  —  and  so  human ! 

Richard  expressed  his  sympathy  suitably,  and  in 
quired  if  there  was  any  way  he  could  be  of  assistance. 
Then  he  went  back  home,  after  waiting  ten  minutes 
past  dinner  for  manners. 

"He  seemed  in  a  hurry,"  marvelled  Rosamond. 
"  Usually  he  stays  quite  awhile." 

"  Perhaps  I  should  have  gone  — "  began  Mr.  Squire, 
whose  bright  look  had  faded.  You  could  see,  now, 
that  he  was  a  little  tired ;  and  Rosamond  remembered 
that  he  had  some  excuse  to  be.  He  had  scoured  the 
lanes  for  Allie,  sitting  there  now  at  her  dessert  so 
peacefully,  and  with  one  thing  and  another  had  been 
hard  at  work  on  foot  ever  since  he  had  carried  Ros 
amond  away  from  her  fortune-telling. 

"You're  tired,"  she  suggested  gently. 

"A  little,"  he  acknowledged.  "But  I'm  afraid 
I'll  have  to  be  back  here  in  about  an  hour,  when 
Martha  wakes  again." 

"  Why  on  earth   go  ?  "   asked  Rosamond.     "  Lie 


NIGHT  WATCHES  265 

down  here  on  the  couch,  and  I  can  cover  you  up,  and 
you  can  have  a  very  nice  nap.  I'll  call  you  the 
minute  Martha  wakens." 

"  Why,  thank  you,  but  I  couldn't,"  he  began ;  but 
Rosamond  had  been  dictating  to  him  all  the  evening 
with  too  much  enjoyment  to  stop  now. 

"  You  could  and  you  can,"  she  said  with  decision. 
"  Come  now,  don't  be  naughty,  Master  Johnnie,"  she 
added  with  a  little  gentle  mischief. 

The  end  of  it  was  that  he  did  lie  down  on  the 
couch,  and  that  Rosamond  put  a  coverlet  over  him 
and  swept  Allie  off  upstairs.  There  she  broke  the 
news  to  her  that  she  was  to  stay  with  Mr.  Squire's 
remaining  maids  till  Martha  got  better. 

Allie  made  no  particular  objection.  All  she  said 
was :  "  Mrs.  Browne  would  be  willing  to  look  after 
me,  down  at  the  hotel.  I  like  her  ever  so  much.  She's 
ever  so  ladylike.  She  liked  me."  She  went  on  to 
give  further  details  of  the  affection  which  had  sprung 
up  between  her  and  Mrs.  Browne,  who  seemed  to  have 
taken  a  strong  liking  to  her.  Mrs.  Browne  had  said 
that  she  wished  she  had  a  little  girl  like  her.  And 
she  had  confided  to  Mrs.  Browne  that  she  was  sure 
her  mother  had  been  a  good  deal  like  her. 

"  She  always  thinks  whether  a  thing  is  ladylike  or 
not  before  she  does  it,"  said  Allie,  with  her  blue  eyes 
wide-open.  "  Think  of  that !  " 

"  I  am,"  answered  Rosamond  cheerfully,  packing 
clothes  busily  in  her  own  suit-case.  "  I  am  also 


266  WHY  NOT? 

thinking  of  the  superiority  of  heredity  to  environ 
ment." 

"What's  those?"  asked  Allie, 

Rosamond  laughed. 

"  Well,  my  darling,  environment  is  Mrs.  Simmons 
and  Rosamond  Gilbert.  And  heredity  must  have 
been  a  mother  who  asked  the  minister  if  it  was  proper 
to  die  before  she  dared  do  it." 

But  this  was  so  far  over  AlhVs  head  that  she  only 
slipped  her  little  hand  in  Rosamond's,  with  one  of  her 
sudden  bursts  of  affection,  and  said,  "  I  love  you, 
Auntie ! " 

Which  made  Rosamond  rather  ashamed  of  herself 
for  saying  things  that  Allie  couldn't  comprehend. 

They  tiptoed  downstairs,  and  the  little  girl  was 
sent  off  with  Annie,  who  was  to  come  back  in  time  to 
get  breakfast  on  the  morrow.  Rosamond  hoped  de 
voutly  that  she  hadn't  robbed  Squire  of  all  his  serv 
ants,  but  she  hardly  knew  how  to  ask  about  it. 

At  just  about  ten-thirty  Martha's  bell  rang.  Dora 
could  be  heard  crossing  the  kitchen  to  her,  but  Ros 
amond,  sitting  beside  the  fire  with  her  eyes  half-shut, 
saw  that  John  Squire  slept  on.  It  seemed  too  bad 
to  waken  him,  but  she  knew  he  wanted  it.  She  took 
time  to  wonder,  standing  above  him,  just  how  old  he 
was.  He  looked  so  curiously  young  lying  there 
asleep.  But  then,  she  remembered,  most  people  do. 
His  thick  black  brows  were  relaxed,  instead  of  being 
a  little  knit,  as  they  usually  were.  She  knew  by  this 


NIGHT  WATCHES  267 

time  that  it  was  only  a  mannerism,  but  still  it  gave 
him  a  look  of  authoritativeness  that  was  gone  now. 
And  his  heavy  black  lashes  were  shut  down  over  the 
grey  eyes  that  "  looked  through  you  and  buttoned 
up  in  the  back,"  as  Rosamond  described  it  irrever 
ently  to  herself.  The  mouth  that  closed  in  such  a 
straight  line  when  he  was  awake  was  relaxed  a  little, 
too.  There  was  a  sweetness  in  his  face  that  she  had 
never  realised  before  was  there,  besides  the  decision, 
and  the  look  as  if  he  meant  to  have  his  own  way.  Or 
perhaps  it  was  the  way  he  had  been  acting  that  night 
that  made  her  feel  as  if  he  was  really  young.  He 
had  been  so  belonging,  somehow.  Neither  Jerrold, 
with  all  his  boyish,  self-centred  high  spirits,  nor  Syd 
ney,  with  her  angry  hunger  for  freedom,  seemed  as 
much  her  own  kind  of  people  as  the  big  black  Squire* 
whose  automobile  she  had  commandeered  so  relentp- 
lessly,  with  the  superiority  of  youth  to  middle  age, 
when  she  first  came  a-dream-realising  to  Wanalasset. 

"  I  wonder  why  ?  "  said  Rosamond. 

As  she  stood  and  watched  him,  and  felt  a  little 
sorry  for  him  somehow  —  he  looked  so  much  as  if  he 
hadn't  been  petted  for  a  long,  long  time !  —  his  eyes 
flew  open,  and  he  looked  gravely  up  at  her. 

"Mother  always  waked  me  that  way,"  he  said 
drowsily. 

"  You're  not  quite  awake  yet,"  she  answered  hur 
riedly.  "  Martha  just  rang  for  Dora.  You  said 
you  wanted  to  be  called." 


268  WHY  NOT? 

She  felt  that  he  was  speaking  more  intimately  than 
he  would  if  all  the  barriers  of  full  awakening  were 
up. 

He  flung  off  the  covering  and  stood  up,  fully  awake 
now. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  and  went  in  to  see  Martha. 

Rosamond  sat  and  waited.  Presently  he  came  out 
again,  said  good-night,  and  went  home.  For  a  mo 
ment  Rosamond  felt  a  queer,  blank  sensation,  as  if 
somebody  who  lived  there  had  gone  away.  Then  she 
shook  herself,  laughed,  locked  up  and  went  to  bed, 
after  the  hardest  day  she  had  known  since  her  grand- 
uncle's  death, 

Martha  seemed  all  right  next  day,  so  far  as  could 
be  told.  But  the  doctor,  coming  briskly  in  at  about 
ten,  reiterated  his  orders  that  she  mustn't  be  moved. 

"  Would  you  mind,  Miss  Rosamond,  going  over 
and  seeing  what  the  maids  are  at,  some  time  this  morn 
ing?  "  she  implored  piteously  when  the  doctor's  fiat 
went  forth.  "  I  don't  know  what  will  happen,  with 
nobody  to  see  to  things  but  the  cook." 

Which  reassured  Rosamond  a  little  concerning  the 
staff  left  behind  to  look  after  Mr.  Squire.  Martha, 
gave  her  directions  enough  for  the  cook  and  the 
chambermaids  and  the  rest  of  the  left-behind  to  have 
managed  two  dozen  servants.  But  before  she  went 
she  attended  to  something  else.  She  shut  all  the  doors 
and  got  Green's  Corners  on  the  telephone. 


NIGHT  WATCHES  269 

The  clerk,  Clarence  Merritt,  answered  her,  not 
Mattison  by  good  luck.  She  was  fairly  certain  that 
neither  Mattison  nor  Sydney  would  have  told  each 
other  how  they  came  to  be  sent  there,  or  at  least  that 
if  Mattison  had  said  anything  Sydney  hadn't.  So 
she  did  not  give  her  name,  merely  asked  for  Mr. 
Browne.  She  got  him  or  her  with  very  little  delay, 

"  This  is  Rosamond,"  she  announced,  "  and  you 
can  be  just  as  noncommittal  as  you  like  at  your  end. 
But  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  your  stepmother." 

"  Oh,  bother ! "  said  Sydney.  "  Is  she  on  my 
trail?  " 

(Clarence  Merritt,  behind  her,  murmured,  "  those 
city  fellers  certainly  is  the  devil  with  girls ! ") 

"  No,"  answered  Rosamond.  "  Only  she's  worried 
about  you.  She  doesn't  know  I  know  anything  about 
you,  but  she's  coming  over  to  be  shown  things  in  my 
crystal  —  my  divining-crystal,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Sydney.     "  Well,  what  then?  " 

'*  I  wish  you'd  write  to  her,"  pleaded  Rosamond. 
"  You  can  post  the  letter  from  New  York,  easily 
enough.  It  seems  too  bad  that  she  should  feel  badly 
about  you  when  she  really  doesn't  have  to.  Will 
you?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Sydney  readily  enough,  but  dis 
piritedly.  "  There's  no  reason  why  anybody  who 
can  be  happy  shouldn't  be.  I'll  write  to  her." 

"Aren't  you  happy?"  demanded  Rosamond  in 
astonishment.  "  The  last  time  you  were  here  — " 


270  WHY  NOT? 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  broke  in  Sydney.     "  Fm  very, 
very  happy.     But  I'm  going  fishing  right  now  — 
have   to    ring   off.     Sorry.     I'll   write   Adeline   to 
night.     'By,  Rosamond." 

Rosamond  hung  up  the  receiver  and  went  her  way, 
pondering.  Life  seemed  an  uncommonly  pleasant 
thing  to  her,  right  now.  And  why  shouldn't  Sydney 
be  happy? 

"  But  she  didn't  sound  happy,"  she  meditated, 
"  and  she  never  mentioned  Mattison.  And  she  was 
simply  wild  on  the  subject  of  joyous  camaraderie 
between  man  and  man,  when  she  was  here  before.  To 
be  sure,  Mattison  may  have  been  around.  Still  she 
could  have  spoken  of  him.  .  .  .  Well,  I  hope  the  next 
time  she  comes  she  won't  increase  Mr.  Squire's  belief 
that  I'm  a  villain  and  a  cut-throat  —  the  wretch ! 
I  wonder  what  she's  been  doing  since  then  with  her 
free  and  happy  man-life  ?  " 

"  Since  then  "  was  nothing  like  as  long  and  mourn 
ful  a  period  as  it  seemed  to  Rosamond  when  she  cast 
her  mind's  eye  back  over  it.  But  while  Rosamond 
had  been  having  her  Sydney-made  difficulties  with 
John  Squire,  Sydney's  own  lot,  like  the  policeman's, 
had  not  been  altogether  a  happy  one.  There  are 
drawbacks  even  to  life  in  khaki  trousers  and  short 
hair. 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

COURTING  AND  KHAKI 

SYDNEY,  on  that  exciting  day  on  which  Rosa 
mond  had  last  seen  her,  had  tramped  her  eight 
miles  back  to  Green's  Corners,  gaily.  There  awaited 
her  a  happy  home,  shared  on  terms  uncommonly  like 
domesticity,  with  the  friend  of  her  heart.  There  also 
awaited  her  enough  housework  to  keep  her  energies 
pleasantly  employed,  and  a  good  deal  of  peace  and 
comfort  generally.  But  there  was  something  else  in 
store  for  her  that  she  hadn't  planned  for  in  the 
least. 

She  got  home  about  eight  o'clock,  dusty,  mussy, 
burnt  browner  than  usual,  but  very  cheerful.  The 
store,  except  on  Saturdays,  closed  at  five.  So  Mat- 
tison,  for  whom  she  had  been  careful  to  provide  a 
cold  lunch  before  she  left,  should  either  be  waiting 
for  her  alone  on  the  little  store  porch,  or  lying  on  the 
sitting-room  sofa  in  the  dark.  It  was  too  warm  for 
lights,  especially  as  they  used  kerosene.  She  was 
about  to  send  up  a  shrill  call  of  "  Hello-o !  Mat- 
tison ! "  when  she  was  stopped  by  a  sound  she  knew. 

Sydney  had  travelled  widely  and  wearily.     And 

the  sound  she  heard  now  was  one  she  had  heard  be- 

271 


272  WHY  NOT? 

fore  on  the  moonlit  decks  of  P.  &  O.  liners,  on  Florida 
verandahs,  in  Egyptian  deserts,  in  New  York  tea 
rooms.  There  is  no  other  sound  like  it,  and  none  in 
the  world  did  Sydney  hate  so  violently  —  the  sound 
of  the  giggle  of  Woman  when  she  coquets  with  Man. 

Sydney  stiffened  where  she  stood,  and  let  her  eyes 
get  used  to  the  darkness.  Presently  she  made  out  the 
light  spot  that  was  Mattison's  hair,  and  the  bigger 
white  spot  that  was  some  girl's  dress.  And  she  heard 
the  girl  say  archly, 

"  Ain't  you  the  greatest  kidder,  Mr.  Mattison  ? 
I  don't  wonder  the  girls  say  they  can't  believe  a  word 
you  tell 'em!" 

"  But  I  didn't  mean  to  kid  you,"  came  Mattison's 
voice,  slow  and  polite  as  ever,  and  a  little  dismayed. 
"I  really  meant  it.  You  really  have  very  pretty 
eyes,  Miss  Robbins.  You  asked  me,  you  know." 

Yes,  and  she  had  evidently  come  to  make  an  in 
formal  evening  call  on  him !  added  Sydney  mentally. 
And  he  was  telling  her  she  had  pretty  eyes.  And 
—  she  doubtless  had.  Sydney  continued  to  stand 
still  in  the  dark  and  listen,  for  people  shouldn't  ex 
change  sentiments  about  eyes  on  a  public  road  if  they 
don't  want  to  be  overheard. 

But  some  motion  must  have  caught  Mattison's  eye, 
for  he  called  out, — "  That  you,  Sydney  ?  Where've 
you  been  all  this  time,  kid?  "  And  Sydney  had  to 
come  close  and  answer. 

"  Only  down  to  Wanalasset  to  see  a  friend." 


COURTING  AND  KHAKI  5TO 

"  Come  along  and  sit  down,"  urged  Mattison  as  if 
he  meant  it.  "  You  know  Miss  Robbins,  don't  you, 
Syd?" 

"  Really  I  must  be  going,"  insisted  Miss  Robbins, 
not  getting  up  at  all. 

"  Don't  go,"  advised  Sydney  brusquely,  "  I'm  go 
ing  in." 

And  in  she  strode,  down  the  passageway  beside  the 
store,  and  up  the  wide  old  stairs  to  her  own  room, 
where  she  flung  herself  across  the  bed,  not  at  all  man- 
fashion.  Not  that  she  cried.  There  was  nothing 
to  cry  about.  There  was  no  reason  why  Mattison 
shouldn't  make  love  to  every  village  girl  in  Green's 
Corners,  or  let  them  make  love  to  him,  which  seemed 
from  what  Sydney  had  heard  to  have  been  more  the 
case  in  this  instance.  But  it  did  seem  unnecessary 
—  unfair.  It  was  all  very  well  for  Rosamond,  down 
there  by  the  lake,  sitting  and  laughing  and  being 
pretty  in  the  middle  of  her  dogs  and  her  men  and  her 
fairy-tale  plans.  Everybody  liked  Rosamond.  But 
when  all  you  ask  is  just  one  man-chum  all  to  your 
self  —  all  to  yourself  —  to  have  to  share  his  society 
with  inferior  girls  with  giggles  seems  unnecessary. 

"We  were  getting  to  be  such  good  friends," 
thought  Sydney  forlornly.  "  When  a  man  falls  in 
love  he's  no  good  to  his  man-friends,  no  good  at  all. 
I  know.  .  .  » 

To  be  sure,  one  giggling  Robbins  girl  didn't  make 
a  marriage,  but  —  well,  what  right  had  she  to  be  sit- 


274  WHY  NOT? 

ting  there  in  her  silly  best  clothes  and  her  silly  per 
fume  and  her  silly  hat  — 

"  Syd !  Syd-nee !  "  called  Mattison  up  the  stairs. 
"  Oh,  kid,  where  are  you?  " 

Sydney  didn't  answer. 

The  next  thing  was  the  hurried  sound  of  Matti 
son  clattering  up  the  stairs,  and  his  pounding  on 
Sydney's  locked  door. 

"  Come  on  down  and  help  me  get  some  ginger-beer 
out  of  the  ice-chest,"  he  called.  "  I'm  hungry  enough 
to  eat  a  customer.  Thank  goodness  my  caller's 
gone  home." 

It  was  ungallant,  but  it  soothed  Sydney  immensely. 
She  got  up  and  went  to  the  door,  feeling  better. 
Mattison  thrust  an  affectionate  arm  into  hers  and 
pulled  her  along  downstairs  with  him. 

"  Cut  some  more  cheese,  there's  a  good  kid,"  he 
said,  busying  himself  with  the  bread-knife,  and  pro 
ducing  beautiful,  accurate  slices  as  he  talked. 
"  Good  Heavens,  Sydney,  I  always  thought  you  had 
a  certain  amount  of  sense,  but  to-night  you  hadn't 
the  intelligence  of  a  billy-goat.  If  you'd  camped  for 
a  minute  that  Robbins  girl  might  have  gone  home, 
and  I'd  have  had  my  appetite  quenched  a  half-hour 
sooner." 

"  She's  a  sweet  young  thing,"  Sydney  allowed  her 
self  to  say  dryly  as  she  obediently  cut  cheese.  "  Do 
you  think  she's  likely  to  love  you  for  yourself  alone  ?  " 

Nobody  likes  to  be  reminded  of  a  confidence  he  has 


COURTING  AND  KHAKI  275 

made  in  a  "  more  dream-heavy  hour  than  this." 
Mattison  turned  pinker  than  was  necessary  to  the 
opening  of  bottles,  and  said  *'  No,"  sulkily.  He  had 
confided  that  wish  to  Sydney  one  dusky  evening  when 
they  were  both  fishing  by  moonlight,  but  he  hadn't 
expected  her  to  throw  it  at  him  this  way.  People 
who  remind  you  of  past  confidences  are  the  most 
irritating  things  on  earth. 

"  That  Robbins  girl  has  designs  on  the  store,"  he 
jerked  out.  "  She  thinks  she  could  be  happy  — " 

"  With  a  gentleman  like  you  ?  "  ended  Sydney,  be 
ginning  to  carry  the  food  out  to  the  porch,  where 
they  were  given  to  eating  such  late  suppers  as 
this. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  answered  Mattison  grimly. 
"  With  a  grocery-store,  and  me  thrown  in.  It  ap 
pears  that  a  flourishing  grocery  in  Green's  Corners 
is  equivalent  to  a  million  in  New  York.  Every  pros 
pect  pleases,  and  only  man  is  vile." 

Sydney  giggled. 

"  Be  grateful,  old  man,"  she  advised.  "  Suppos 
ing  the  girl  Jiad  been  disinterested  —  adored  you 
hopelessly  for  your  charms,  you  know  —  like  as  not 
you'd  have  felt  duty-bound  to  marry  her,  as  a  re 
ward  of  virtue ! " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I'd  go  as  far  as  that,"  said 
Mattison  cautiously.  He  pushed  the  tray  across 
the  bench  at  Sydney.  "  Have  another  sandwich," 
he  invited  cheerily,  "  and  shut  up." 


276  WHY  NOT? 

So  Sydney  had  another  sandwich,  and  shut  up, 
and  her  rebellious  feelings  were  soothed  for  the  time 
being. 

But  with  a  chum  who  is  the  young  and  agreeable 
owner  of  the  village's  best  general  store,  a  store  well 
known  to  be  clear  of  mortgages,  one  cannot  expect 
exclusive  possession.  Trade  was  very,  very  much 
better  during  the  scant  hours  Mattison  was  behind 
the  counter  than  when  Merritt,  who  was  a  family 
man  with  two  children  and  a  faded  wife,  officiated. 
The  stock  of  notions  and  dress-goods,  Sydney  noted 
bitterly,  had  to  be  replenished  quite  twice  as  often 
as  did  such  things  as  molasses  and  clothespins  and 
starch  and  dog-collars,  which  are  more  generally 
wanted  by  the  married  and  settled  part  of  the  popu 
lation.  As  for  the  postoffice,  Sydney  thought  seri 
ously  of  having  an  apocryphal  uncle  present  her 
with  a  horse  and  buggy,  and  delivering  the  mail  once 
a  day  herself.  But  she  couldn't  give  Mattison  her 
real  reason  for  wanting  to  establish  the  delivery, 
and  when  she  suggested  her  expectations  of  the 
buggy  and  her  philanthropic  desire  to  be  a  postman, 
he  opposed  her,  with  his  usual  carefully  thought  out 
reasonableness.  The  villagers  enjoyed  coming  after 
the  mail  more  than  anything  else  they  did,  he  ex 
plained.  In  the  absence  of  any  other  neighbour 
hood  centre  why  deprive  them  of  the  club  privileges 
of  Sheppard's  store? 

"  Old  John  Rice  has  occupied  the  same  barrel  and 


COURTING  AND  KHAKI  277 

eaten  the  same  crackers  every  day  for  thirty  years," 
he  told  her.  "  You  wouldn't  want  to  wreck  his  hap 
piness  by  making  him  change  his  habits  now." 

So  Sydney  gave  up  the  idea  of  having  her  uncle 
die  and  leave  her  the  buggy. 

It  was  trying,  though  doubtless  excellent,  discipline 
to  have  to  be  very  jealous  with  no  loophole  for  saying 
so.  But  Sydney  went  resolutely  on  enjoying  her  man 
hood  ;  though  if  she  had  stopped  to  think  of  it,  her 
clothes  were  the  only  masculine  thing  about  her  life. 
She  was  engaged  in  that  quite  feminine  occupation, 
cooking  and  keeping  house  for  a  man.  The  days 
had  settled  into  a  fairly  regular  routine.  It  grew 
to  be  a  settled  thing  that  at  the  end  of  the  day  she 
and  Mattison  should  sit  on  the  bench  and  talk  till 
bedtime.  Mattison's  pipe  kept  off  mosquitoes. 
Sydney  never  smoked,  though  it  had  been  one  of  the 
things  she  had  intended  to  do.  Somehow  she  felt 
that  she  must  not,  and  no  matter  how  Mattison 
coaxed  and  lured  with  pipe  and  cigarette,  she  never 
did.  She  sat  silent,  generally,  and  let  Mattison  do 
most  of  the  talking.  The  treetoads  gurgled  softly 
off  in  the  distance,  and  the  wind  blew  leafy  and  fresh 
and  sweet  from  the  woods  beyond.  Once  in  awhile  a 
whip-poor-will  would  cry.  You  could  hear  the  leaves 
rustle,  and  if  you  tipped  your  head  back  there  were 
stars  overhead.  Altogether,  on  these  nights,  Syd 
ney  was  sure  that  life  was  most  satisfactory. 

But  it  was  on  just  as  perfect  a  night  as  well  might 


278  WHY  NOT? 

be  that  Mattison,  who  had  fallen  comfortably  silent, 
suddenly  said,  "  Syd?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Sydney,  with  the  quick  response 
she  always  gave  him. 

"  Syd,  I  don't  believe  you  like  girls  any  more  than 
I  do." 

"  I  don't  like  them  as  much,"  she  answered  shortly, 
pushing  her  hand  back  through  her  crest  of  black 
hair.  It  was  a  little  long  by  now,  getting  to  have 
a  most  football  effect,  but  Sydney  rather  liked  it  so. 
It  was  more  becoming.  "  You'd  like  girls  fast 
enough  if  you  trusted  them,"  she  went  on  carelessly. 
"  I  couldn't  get  excited  over  any  girl  that  ever  lived, 
no  matter  how  I  tried." 

Which  was,  naturally,  quite  true. 

"  Let's  try,"  suggested  Mattison  out  of  a  clear 
sky.  "  Look  here,  Syd,  it's  this  way.  I  ought  to 
get  married.  My  people  want  me  to,  and  I  know  I 
should.  And  —  well,  I  told  you.  I  can't  get  myself 
focused  on  a  girl.  They  don't  like  me." 

Sydney  began  an  indignant  protest,  but  he 
stopped  her. 

"  No,  they  don't.  You  do  —  fellows  do,  once  in 
awhile.  But  there's  just  something  about  me  that 
girls  don't  like.  And  I'm  not  going  to  marry  any  of 
them  because  they  want  — "  he  grinned  — "  a  good 
corner  grocery  business  and  a  brick  house.  But 
we  ought  to  make  an  effort,  you  and  I.  Not  liking 
girls  isn't  normal,  at  our  age." 


COURTING  AND  KHAKI  279 

Sydney  leaned  back  in  her  corner  and  shut  her 
eyes  and  thought.  Suppose  he  knew,  this  blond, 
methodical,  reasonable  young  man  with  the  streak 
of  desperate  sentiment  down  the  middle  of  him,  that 
she,  who  cooked  his  meals  and  helped  in  his  grocery 
for  seven  dollars  a  week,  could  have  bought  up  his 
corner  grocery  and  himself  several  times  over!  She 
knew  he  was  a  college  man,  for  he  had  let  that  much 
out.  But  he  had  evidently  sunk  what  money  he 
had,  out  here  in  the  woods  and  wilds.  He  had  been 
rich  once,  of  that  she  was  certain.  For  one  thing, 
he  did  not  speak  of  "  going  to  Europe,"  but  of 
"  crossing.5'  And  there  is  no  surer  criterion  of 
money  or  not  money  than  that.  Only  your  mil 
lionaire  "  crosses,"  as  unconcernedly  as  if  he  were 
dealing  with  a  trip  on  a  ferry-boat. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  about  it  ?  "  she 
inquired  flippantly.  "Explain  to  Lorena  Wilder 
and  Maudella  Robbins  and  the  rest  that  you're  really 
a  charmer  when  they  get  to  know  you?  They  tag 
around  enough  as  it  is.  Goodness  knows  what  would 
happen  if  they  had  any  more  light  on  the  beauties 
of  your  nature !  " 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  anything  of  the  sort,"  returned 
Mattison,  ignoring  her  flippancy.  "  Don't  be  a 
young  idiot.  It's  the  other  way  round.  I  want  to 
see  if  I  can't  discover  their  charms.  They  must 
have  some.  And  if  you  go  calling  on  a  girl  alone, 
hereabouts,  everybody  begins  to  ask  you  why  you 


280  WHY  NOT? 

don't  marry  her.  I  want  you  to  come  along  with 
me  for  a  round  of  calls." 

"  Oh,  I  say ! "  protested  Sydney.  "  I  hate  call 
ing  on  girls.  And  /  don't  see  any  reason  why  I 
should  go  round  boring  myself  to  death  when  I'd 
much  rather  be  lying  down  reading,  or  out  in  the 
woods  at  night." 

"  I'd  rather  be  in  the  woods  myself,"  said  Matti- 
son  a  little  wistfully.  "  They're  much  pleasanter 
than  stuffy  parlours.  But  I  owe  it  to  myself  to  try." 

66 1  haven't  any  clothes,"  objected  Sydney.  But 
she  might  as  well  have  talked  to  the  tree-toads. 
When  Mattison  decided  that  he  owed  himself  any 
thing  Sydney  knew  everything  was  over  but  meek 
acquiescence. 

"  Anyway,  for  goodness'  sake  don't  start  off  right 
away,"  she  pleaded,  hoping  he  would  forget  about  it 
if  they  delayed  a  little.  "  Let's  have  a  night  or 
so  more  of  peace  and  comfort." 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  going  to-night,"  said  Mat 
tison  consolingly.  "  Come  on  down  to  the  branch, 
and  see  if  any  of  those  moths  we  put  goo  on  the  trees 
for  are  there  keeping  their  engagement." 

Sydney  rose  cheerfully,  and  they  strolled  off  arm 
in  arm. 

"  You're  a  good  kid,  Sydney,"  observed  Mattison. 
"  It's  funny  how  we've  taken  to  each  other.  I  don't 
think  I've  ever  gotten  as  close  up  to  anybody  as  I 
have  to  you,  as  long  as  I  can  remember.  Not  even 


COURTING  AND  KHAKI  281 

my  chum  at  college.  I  feel  as  if  —  well,  as  if  you 
and  I'd  belonged  together  since  the  world  began." 

"  That's  why  you're  trying  to  find  a  wife,  and  get 
rid  of  me,  I  suppose,"  Sydney  answered  in  a  muf 
fled  voice. 

Mattison  laughed. 

"  Good  Lord,  you  answered  like  a  girl,"  he  said. 
"  Get  rid  of  you  ?  Not  much.  I'd  like  to  know 
why  marrying  —  not  that  there's  any  immediate  like 
lihood  of  it  —  should  make  me  get  rid  of  you,  or  you 
of  me!" 

"  It  would,  that's  all,"  said  Sydney,  still  in  a  low 
voice.  "  And  —  well,  Mattison,  I  wouldn't  have 
you  for  a  chum  any  more  if  you  married  Lorena  or 
the  rest  of  the  happy  villagers.  I  —  I  like  you 
pretty  well,  too,  old  boy." 

"  Then  no  matter  how  much  either  of  us  gets  mar 
ried,  we  stay  pals  to  the  end  of  the  chapter,"  said 
Mattison  cheerfully.  "  Look  out,  kid,  you'll  be 
down  over  that  stump." 

Mattison's  purposes  were  not  much  less  unwaver 
ing  than  the  Pyramids.  Next  night  Sydney  settled 
herself  on  the  corner  of  the  porch  bench,  with  a  sigh 
of  tired  relief  at  the  chance  to  rest.  It  had  been  one 
of  those  unseasonably  hot  days  which  sometimes 
drop  into  the  middle  of  June.  So  the  meals  had 
been  rather  more  tiring  to  get  than  was  ordinary, 
because  the  gas  range  had  suddenly  resigned,  and 


WHY  NOT? 

had  to  be  replaced  by  the  coal-stove.  Also  there  had 
fallen  to  Sydney  rather  more  work  in  the  store  than 
usual,  because  Mattison  had  made  an  unexplained 
expedition  to  the  city  after  their  midday  meal,  and 
hadn't  returned  till  late,  when  he  came  back  tri 
umphantly  with  mysterious  bundles.  Besides  that, 
Clarence  Merritt's  wife  had  been  ill  all  the  afternoon, 
which  had  temporarily  removed  him  from  the  staff. 
So  poor  Sydney  was  quite  unprepared  for  Matti- 
son's  cheerful  "  Come  along,  kid." 

She  didn't  move. 

"  Come  where  ?  "  she  demanded,  without  looking  up 
at  Mattison,  framed  in  the  doorway.  "  I'm  dead  to 
the  world,  Jim  Mattison.  I  wouldn't  get  off  this 
bench  to-night  for  all  the  whip-poor-wills  that  were 
ever  whipped,  or  moths,  or  bullfrogs,  or  muskrats,  or 


"  'Tisn't  muskrats,"  said  Mattison  sweetly  ;  "  it's 
girls.  Two  of  'em.  You  and  I  are  going  hence  to 
call  on  the  Warren  girls  this  beauteous  night." 

"  You  may  be,"  said  Sydney.  "  You  act  as  if  it 
was  a  pleasure  exertion.  I  stay  here  and  rest.  To 
begin  with,  I  left  calling  clothes  out  of  my  ward 
robe  when  I  came  here." 

"  Knew  you'd  say  that,"  responded  Mattison, 
equably.  "  So  I  went  off  this  morning  —  " 

"  —  And  left  me  all  the  storekeeping  to  do,"  in 
terposed  Sydney.  "  Mary  Merritt  was  sick,  and 
Clarence  had  to  stay  by  her  and  look  after  her." 


COURTING  AND  KHAKI  283 

"  Sorry,  old  man,  but  it's  all  for  your  good,"  said 
Mattison  gaily.  "  I  went,  as  I  was  saying  when 
you  interrupted,  and  got  you  some  calling  clothes." 

"  What  ?  "  exclaimed  Sydney,  aroused  from  her 
fatigue.  "  You  didn't !  I  have  every  stitch  I  need." 

"  You  haven't  any  silk  shirts  or  any  flannels,"  an 
swered  the  unruffled  Mattison.  "  I  think  I  have 
your  measurements  right.  Got  you  some." 

"  I  didn't  want  them !  "  reiterated  Sydney.  But 
Mattison  was  one  of  those  gentle  and  inflexible  peo 
ple  who  always  get  their  own  way  over  their  storm 
ier  friends. 

"  They're  a  present,"  he  pleaded.  "  I  took  a  lot 
of  trouble  picking  them  out.  Besides,  you  said 
you'd  go." 

Sydney  had  never  wanted  to  do  anything  quite  as 
little  in  her  life  as  she  wanted  to  dress  and  go  court 
ing  with  Mattison.  But  she  had  a  confirmed  habit 
by  this  time  of  doing  everything  he  told  her  to. 
She  rose  wearily  from  the  bench  and  went  in  with 
him. 

"  That's  a  good  fellow ! "  said  Mattison  appre 
ciatively.  "  Everything's  dumped  outside  your 
door." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said.  She  did  not  offer  to 
pay  for  the  clothes,  because  she  knew  her  friend  well 
enough  to  be  sure  that  it  meant  a  three-hours'  argu 
ment  with  certain  defeat  at  the  end,  and  she  was 
very  tired.  She  stooped  over  the  packages  by  her 


284  WHY  NOT? 

door,  unlocked  it,  and  went  in.  There  was  dressing 
up  to  do  here,  too,  it  seemed,  and  there  were  calls. 
And  there  was  somebody,  apparently,  who  had  to  be 
obeyed;  at  least  Sydney  found  herself  obeying  him. 
Yet  she  felt  no  impulse  to  depart,  wronged  as 
she  was.  She  locked  the  door  behind  her,  lighted 
the  lamp  and  began  to  change  her  khaki  trousers 
and  blue  cotton  shirt  for  the  fine,  heavy  white  silk 
shirt  and  white  trousers  Mattison  had  brought  her. 
Characteristically  careful  to  the  last  detail,  he  had 
forgotten  nothing.  There  were  white  silk  socks  and 
white  buck  oxfords,  and  even  a  silk  scarf  of  a  deep 
yellow,  the  one  touch  of  colour.  It  was  the  very 
tone  most  becoming  to  Sydney's  dark  eyes  and 
tanned  face.  She  smiled  over  Mattison's  careful 
ness  as  she  opened  the  package  that  held  it,  and 
smiled  at  herself  in  the  glass  as  she  finished  her  toi 
let.  She  made  quite  a  distinguished-looking  youth. 
She  found  herself  wondering  how  a  heavy  white  crepe 
frock  that  fell  away  at  the  throat  just  that  way, 
with  a  yellow  girdle  and  perhaps  a  touch  of  the  same 
colour  at  the  wrist-ruffles,  would  become  her.  And 
woman-slippers,  with  high  heels  and  perhaps  buckles 
with  topazes.  And  yellow  silk  stockings,  and  her 
hair  done  high  with  that  old  amber  comb  of  her 
grandmother's  in  it  — 

She  thrust  her  hand  impatiently  through  the  mop 
of  black  hair  she  had  sacrificed  so  ruthlessly  a  month 
or  so  before  — 


COURTING  AND  KHAKI  285 

"  Oh,  dear! "  said  Sydney  Browne,  despiser  of 
woman's  wear. 

"  Ready  ?  "  called  up  the  relentless  voice  of  Matti- 
son,  and  she  heard  him  running  upstairs  and  halt 
ing  outside  her  door.  She  picked  up  the  round  white 
felt  hat,  last  item  of  Mattison's  shopping,  crammed 
it  on  her  head  and  opened  the  door. 

Mattison  was  bedecked,  too.  It  appeared  that  he 
had  brought  beautiful  clothes  with  him.  He  had  on 
a  Palm  Beach  outfit  of  superlative  cut  and  fit,  and 
looked  exceedingly  well. 

"  That's  the  boy !  "  said  he.  "  That  rig's  becom 
ing  to  you,  kid.  But  —  gee,  you  need  a  haircut! 
That's  a  regular  football  mop.  The  birds  will  be 
making  nests  in  it." 

But  Sydney's  back  was  against  the  wall. 

"  I  won't  go  one  step  if  I  have  to  do  anything 
more,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  came  here  to  the  country 
to  get  rest  and  quiet,  and  to  be  rid  of  the  trouble 
of  dressing  up  and  seeing  stupid  people  that  didn't 
interest  me." 

She  tried  to  be  severe,  but  she  was  conscious  that 
she  was  only  tremulous. 

"  Why,  you  poor  kid,  you  are  tired,"  said  Matti 
son  compunctiously.  "  I  wouldn't  have  gone  off  that 
way  and  left  everything  on  your  shoulders,  if  I'd 
known  about  Clarence's  wife.  But  as  long  as  we're 
ready  we'd  better  go.  Here  —  wait  a  minute. 
That  tie's  wrong.  You  are  a  careless  kid !  " 


286  WHY  NOT? 

He  wheeled  Sydney  and  did  the  yellow  tie  over 
again,  while  she  stood  meekly  under  his  ministra 
tions. 

"  That's  not  the  way  to  wear  that  soup-basin,"  he 
went  on.  "  Didn't  you  ever  have  one  before?  This 
way." 

He  replaced  it  the  right  way,  and  marched  Sydney 
off.  Strangely  enough  it  never  came  to  her  that  she 
was  standing  about  eight  times  as  much  fussing  from 
him  as  she  ever  had  from  her  stepmother,  and  that 
she  was  accepting  it  as  if  it  was  a  favour. 

The  operation  of  dressing  had  refreshed  her  a  lit 
tle,  as  it  generally  does  a  woman.  The  little  walk 
with  Mattison  through  the  cool  evening  air  was 
pleasant,  too.  But  not  so  the  call.  The  Warren 
girls,  Emily  and  Ellabelle,  owned  a  cool  and  com 
fortable  porch,  but  this  was  a  First  Call,  and  as 
such  the  First  Callers  were  not  let  out  of  the  parlour. 
Emily,  the  older,  took  Mattison,  and  Ellabelle  took 
Sydney,  and  both  did  their  best  to  be  charming. 

It  was  rather  fun  for  Sydney  for  a  little  while. 
She  sat  still,  a  la  Americain,  and  let  the  girl  do  the 
work.  Ellabelle  was  a  nice  little  thing  of  about 
seventeen,  with  brown  hair  done  in  a  lamp-mat  over 
each  ear,  and  a  too-constant  laugh  that  ended  off  all 
her  sentences.  But  Sydney  found  her  own  eyes  con 
stantly  straying  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  where 
pretty  blonde  Emily  was  reading  Mattison's  palm 


COURTING  AND  KHAKI  287 

with  little  pattings  and  touchings  and  ripples  of 
laughter. 

"  I  can  read  gentlemen's  palms,  too,"  said  Ella- 
belle  coquettishly,  as  she  saw  Sydney  watching  the 
others. 

"  Let's  go  over  and  hear  what  Miss  Emily's  tell 
ing  Mattison,"  suggested  Sydney  desperately,  walk 
ing  over,  and  forgetting  to  bring  Ellabelle's  chair 
along. 

Ellabelle  looked  crestfallen,  but  she  followed. 
Mattison  was  quite  unmoved.  He  went  on  getting 
his  palm  read,  and  when  he  was  through  the  sisters 
merely  switched  gallants.  Sydney  gave  up  any 
hopes  of  escape  after  that.  She  answered  Emily  as 
politely  as  she  could,  and  took  note  mechanically  of 
the  furnishings  of  the  room.  She  had  read  about 
shell  flowers  that  lived  in  glass  cases,  but  she  had 
never  supposed  that  they  really  existed.  Neither 
had  she  known  that  people  still  had  tidies,  or  put 
them  on  top  of  parlour  organs.  However,  there 
were  touches  of  modernity.  Postcard  albums,  which 
Sydney  hated  with  the  viciousness  of  the  easily 
bored,  abounded,  and  Emily  shpwed  her  three  before 
they  rose  to  leave. 

In  spite  of  his  declaration  that  "  girls  did  not  like 
him "  Mattison  had  managed  to  keep  up  a  steady 
and  flirtatious  conversation  with  first  Emily  and  then 
Ellabelle,  and  had  given  such  a  successful  imitation 


288  WHY  NOT? 

of  enjoying  himself,  Sydney  thought  bitterly,  that 
they  had  never  brought  a  postcard  album  near  him. 

"  They're  nice  little  girls,"  said  Mattison  approv 
ingly  on  the  way  home.  "  Nice  and  sincere.  I  liked 
the  way  that  eldest  one  was  dressed.  A  girl  does 
look  well  in  pretty,  simple  things  like  that." 

"  Yes,"  said  Sydney. 

In  her  mind  she  was  swiftly  reviewing  Emily  War 
ren's  bright  blue  beads,  her  vivid  pink  lingerie  rib 
bons  that  shone  through  her  lavender  dress,  the 
cheap  lace  on  her  ruffles,  the  slazy  lavender  silk 
stockings  above  the  black  slippers  that  had  never 
cost  more  than  one-ninety-eight.  And  she  thought 
about  her  own  trunks,  and  the  piles  of  handsome, 
carefully-chosen  clothes  that  she  had  abandoned  dis 
dainfully  in  order  to  wear  khaki  trousers  and  tennis 
shoes,  and  —  have  freedom.  And  then  suddenly 
Rosamond's  last  half-laughing  words  came  into  her 
mind: 

"  It  isn't  all  going  to  be  smooth  sailing,  even  alone 
with  the  ducks.  But  if  things  seem  crossways,  just 
remember  they  really  aren't.  And  then  they  really 
won't  be  when  you've  looked  them  over  a  couple  of 
times." 

She  tried  hard  to  remember  that.  And  after  all, 
what  was  wrong,  except  that  she  was  jealous  and 
wanted  her  chum  all  to  herself?  Men,  she  reminded 
herself,  probably  didn't  feel  that  way.  She  was  for 
getting  to  feel  like  a  man.  "  I'm  turning  out  a  regu- 


COURTING  AND  KHAKI  289 

lar  porch-cat,"  she  rebuked  herself,  and  tried  to  tear 
her  mind's  claws  from  Emily's  cheapnesses  and  short 
comings.  After  a  minute  she  even  managed  a  little 
laugh. 

"  They're  both  nice  girls,"  she  said.  "  Next  time 
we  go  out  I  won't  be  so  tired,  and  I'll  cut  you  out, 
Mattison,  see  if  I  don't !  " 

"  Do  you  want  Emily  ?  "  asked  Mattison  in  swift 
alarm;  not  for  the  loss  of  Emily,  she  found,  but 
herself.  "  You're  too  young  to  go  chasing  after 
girls.  Why,  what  would  I  do  without  you?  I'll 
tell  you,  kid,  we'll  cut  out  this  girl  thing." 

But  Sydney  had  a  grip  on  herself  now. 

"No,  indeed,"  she  said;  "  we'U  keep  on."  But  it 
doesn't  do  to  be  too  noble.  Sydney  wished  she 
hadn't  said  that,  next  day,  because  Mattison  took 
her  at  her  word,  man-fashion,  and  began  to  plan 
more  expeditions.  He  was  annoyingly  literal. 

So  after  an  evening  alone  for  rest  and  refreshment 
they  started  on  their  quest  again.  This  time  it  was 
the  Robbins  girl,  and  there  was  only  one  of  her,  so 
there  was  no  question  of  pairing  off. 

Sydney,  in  spite  of  her  bravado,  made  no  effort  to 
supplant  Maudella  in  Mattison's  affections.  She 
found  a  post-card  album  without  waiting  to  have  it 
forced  upon  her,  and  stayed  in  the  corner  with  it 
till  Mattison  saw  fit  to  go.  There  was  only  one 
bright  spot  to  that  evening,  and  that  was  a  large 
plate  of  excellent  fudge  which  Maudella  produced 


290  WHY  NOT? 

about  ten.  Sydney's  gloom  didn't  prevent  her  from 
having  an  appetite,  and  she  ate  it  with  enjoyment. 
But  still,  as  she  studied  postcards  from  Niagara 
Falls  and  Asbury  Park  and  Wildwood,  and  even  one 
far-travelled  one  from  California,  she  continued  to 
eye  Maudella  Bobbins'  clothes.  She  had  disliked 
the  Warren  girls,  but  Maudella  she  felt  not  so  much 
antagonism  to.  The  girl  was  of  her  own  type, 
tall,  thin,  and  with  rather  dashing  dark  good 
looks.  But  Maudella  did  what  Sydney  had  never 
known  how  or  cared  to  do:  taken  all  her  own  good 
points  and  made  the  most  of  them.  Her  dark  skin 
was  thrown  up  by  vivid  colours,  her  brilliant  eyes 
were  emphasised  a  little  more  than  they  need  have 
been,  with  a  pencil,  and  her  green  dress,  overtrimmed 
though  it  was,  brought  out  her  slimness  effectively. 

"  I  always  tried  to  hide  how  thin  I  was,"  reflected 
Sydney,  with  a  sigh  for  her  own  stupidity.  Here  in. 
the  backwoods  was  that  formidable  thing,  a  woman 
who  knew  how  to  dress. 

But  Sydney  Browne  was  not  dense.  She  sat  and 
took  notes  for  future  reference.  Some  day,  when  all 
this  was  over  and  mercifully  dulled,  and  Mattison 
keeping  his  grocery  store  with  some  artless  village 
maiden's  wifely  aid,  Sydney  decided  that  she  would 
go  back  to  being  just  a  girl  again.  Just  for  a  little 
while,  to  see  if  she  couldn't  do  it  better  now,  with  all 
the  hints  she'd  picked  up.  For  the  little  while  that 
was  left  of  the  call  on  Maudella,  Sydney  was  not  un- 


COURTING  AND  KHAKI  291 

happy.     She  was  engaged  in  planning  herself  even 
ing  clothes. 

Time  went  on.  Sydney  grew,  finally,  almost  hard 
ened  to  the  relentless  round  of  calling  Mattison 
forced  upon  her.  They  discussed  the  girls  they  went 
to  see  with  a  frankness  that  bordered  on  brutality, 
and  Sydney's  outlook  on  them  helped  Mattison  a 
good  deal,  whether  in  the  right  or  wrong  direction, 
to  see  Woman  as  she  is.  The  friendship  grew  closer 
and  closer.  It  was  the  most  wonderful  and  satisfy 
ing  relationship  Sydney  had  ever  known,  and  the  girls 
gradually  became  a  very  small  part  of  it.  Then 
one  day  Mattison  threw  another  bombshell. 

"  What  do  you  really  think  of  Miss  Robbins  ?  "  he 
asked  casually  while  they  lay  on  their  backs  in  the 
fern  one  afternoon. 

"  Why,  nothing  special,"  Sydney  answered. 
"  She's  rather  cleverer  than  the  girls  hereabouts." 
Then  she  turned  over  to  face  him,  startled  by  a  pe 
culiar  note  in  his  voice.  "  Are  you  thinking  about 
—  that  ?  "  she  demanded. 

Mattison  nodded,  as  if  he  was  answering  a  question 
about  a  meal,  or  an  article  of  dress. 

"  That  is,  not  seriously,"  he  amended  his  assent. 
"  Only  wondering.  You  see,  Syd,  you  can't  expect 
to  have  a  real  friend  in  your  wife,  as  far  as  I  can 
see.  These  girls  —  I  couldn't  think  alongside  any 
of  them,  the  way  I  do  with  you.  But  Maudella's 


WHY  NOT? 

pretty,  and  the  type  I  like  best.  And  anybody  who 
looked  like  you  might  be  like  you  inside  a  little,  too, 
It  always  works  out  that  way  after  awhile,  I 
think.  .  .  .  Wish  you  had  a  sister,  kid." 

"  I  haven't,"  said  Sydney  a  little  hoarsely. 

"  I  know,"  he  said.  "  Isn't  it  a  nuisance?  ...  I 
don't  know  why  it  is,  but  since  I've  been  out  here  I've 
felt  —  well,  it  sounds  foolish,  but  you  always  under 
stand.  You're  not  like  any  fellow  I  ever  knew  be 
fore." 

Sydney  laid  a  feverish  hand  on  his  wrist. 

"  Go  on,"  she  said. 

He  started. 

"  How  hot  your  hands  are !  "  he  said.  "  Well,  it's 
this :  I  want  —  somebody  or  other  badly.  Somebody 
who  could  give  me  all  you  could,  and  be  a  woman, 
too.  Being  with  you,  being  chums  this  way,  has 
made  me  see  how  I  want  it.  I'm  restless  and  un 
happy  and  excited,  and  I  don't  know  what  it  all  is, 
but  if  I  married  Maudella  perhaps  —  perhaps  I  could 
get  her  to  be  all  I  want. —  Good  Lord,  kid,  what 
is  it?" 

For  Sydney  had  arisen,  and  was  looking  down  on 
him  with  burning  cheeks  and  a  heaving  bosom. 

"What  is  it?  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  .  .  .  No.  .  .  . 
I  can't  —  Listen,  Jim  Mattison.  If  you're  as  fond 
of  me  as  you  say  you  are  you'll  do  one  thing  I  ask 
you  without  asking  any  questions.  .  .  .  Will  you?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mattison,  getting  up  and  fling- 


COURTING  AND  KHAKI  293 

ing  an  anxious  arm  about  her  shoulders.  "  Here, 
hold  up,  kid.  You're  sick  or  something." 

"  I'm  not,"  she  said,  jerking  violently  away  from 
him.  "  Don't  touch  me !  ...  I'm  going  away,  down 
to  a  house  where  a  girl  lives  named  Rosamond  Gil 
bert,  in  Wanalasset.  A  white  bungalow,  at  the  third 
boat-landing.  I  want  you  to  wait  over  one  train, 
and  then  meet  me  there.  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you  that  I  can't  —  oh,  I  can't  tell  you  here.  Will 
you?" 

"  Of  course  I  will,  or  anything  else  you  say,"  he 
said.  "  But,  Sydney,  you  worry  me.  Hadn't  I  bet 
ter  go  down  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no ! "  said  Sydney,  beginning  to  laugh 
hysterically.  "  No,  you  mustn't ;  you  shan't ! " 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  he  said  soothingly. 

She  clutched  his  coat  sleeve  with  both  hands. 

"  And  for  heaven's  sake,"  she  adjured  him  tensely, 
"  don't  say  anything  to  Maudella  Robbins  till  after 
you've  been  to  Wanalasset !  " 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

NIGHT   WATCHES 

TO  return  to  Rosamond's  part  of  the  country, 
Martha  improved  very  satisfactorily.  In  a 
couple  of  days  she  was  so  much  better  that  there 
seemed  a  fair  prospect  of  her  being  moved  from 
Rosamond's  by  the  end  of  the  week. 

So  when  Jerrold  called  up  and  told  Rosamond  that 
there  was  to  be  a  grand  Saturday  night  dance  at  his 
Mammoth,  there  seemed  to  be  no  reason  why  she 
should  not  go. 

"  I'll  send  Mrs.  Woolman  up  to  stay  with  her  sis 
ter,"  said  Richard,  who  seemed  in  an  unusually 
thoughtful  mood,  "  and  Squire  can  bring  you  down." 

"  Mr.  Squire  ?  "  asked  Rosamond  in  a  surprised 
voice.  "  His  dancing  days  are  over !  " 

She  heard  Richard  laugh. 

"  They  tell  me  he's  one  of  the  best  dancers  here 
abouts,"  said  he,  "  unless  they  were  stringing  me." 

"Who?" 

"  A  bunch  of  the  Country  Club  fellows,"  Richard 
answered.  "  I  managed  to  get  away  from  my  zoo 
long  enough  to  go  up  there,  the  other  night  —  to  the 

Country  Club,  I  mean.     He  belongs,  and  generally 

294 


NIGHT  WATCHES  295 

goes  to  the  dances  unless  he's  travelling.  I'd  a  great 
deal  rather  come  for  you  myself,  but  I'm  tied  down 
by  having  to  run  things,  you  know." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Rosamond,  "  and  I  accept  with 
wild  pleasure.  You'll  probably  have  to  dance  with 
me  a  lot  yourself,  for  I  am  positive  Mr.  Squire 
doesn't  dance.  I  do  hope,"  she  added  with  swift 
fear,  "  they  won't  ask  me  to  read  their  palms  in  the 
middle  of  a  dance !  " 

"  I  told  them  that  you  were  a  friend  of  mine,  not 
a  professional  at  all,"  said  Richard  calmly,  "  and 
that  you  were  doing  it  for  a  lark." 

"  And  I  suppose  they  said,  like  Yum- Yum, 
*  There,  I  knew  it  directly  I  heard  her  telling  for 
tunes  ! '  "  answered  Rosamond  with  a  little  laugh. 

But  Richard  answered  her  soberly,  and  with  a  lit 
tle  sigh  back  of  what  she  was  saying.  He  did  not 
seem  as  light-hearted  as  he  had  been.  He  gave  her 
details  about  everything  concerning  the  dance,  and 
then  rang  off,  still  with  the  same  little  sigh. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  is  the  matter  with  the 
world?  "  she  demanded  of  John  Squire,  who  had  ap 
peared  noiselessly  behind  her  as  she  telephoned.  He 
had  gradually  gotten  into  the  habit  of  walking  in 
without  knocking,  since  they  had  been  looking  after 
Martha  together.  "  Everybody  is  as  sad  as  they 
can  be,"  she  went  on  with  a  fine  disregard  of  gram 
mar.  "  This  is  the  second  person  in  the  client  line 
who  has  talked  to  me  over  the  telephone  lately,  and 


296  WHY  NOT? 

acted  as  if  life  was  fearful!  And  I  think  life's  the 
nicest  thing  there  is,  don't  you?  " 

"  I've  no  complaints  to  offer  right  now,"  he  an 
swered  buoyantly,  as  he  went  on  his  way  to  Martha's 
room. 

"  Oh,  but  wait,"  she  called  after  him.  "  Richard 
Jerrold  asked  —  he  wants  to  have  you  bring  me  to 
a  dance  at  his  Mammoth  Saturday  night,  and  he 
says  you  dance !  " 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  take  you,"  said  he  po 
litely.  "  Yes,  I  dance.  Did  you  think  I  was  too 
old?" 

Instead  of  being  cross  he  seemed  decidedly  amused. 

"  Not  exactly  too  old,"  she  stammered,  sacrificing 
a  little  truth  to  politeness.  "I  —  I  thought  you 
might  have  been  too  busy  with  other  things  to  —  to 
bother  with  frivolities." 

"  Dancing's  excellent  exercise,"  answered  Mr. 
Squire  sedately,  but  still  with  that  suppressed  amuse 
ment.  "  Is  it  evening  dress,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Flannels  for  the  men  and  anything  you  please 
for  the  girls,"  answered  Rosamond ;  "  at  least  that's 
what  he  said." 

"  Very  well,"  her  interlocutor  answered,  and  went 
on  into  the  room  beyond. 

Rosamond  had  a  good  deal  to  do,  for  the  super 
vision  of  two  housefuls  of  servants  is  a  thing  which 
takes  time,  be  the  servants  ever  so  well  trained.  But 
she  wasted  quite  a  while  merely  standing  still  and 


NIGHT  WATCHES  297 

wondering.  The  combination  of  her  big,  dignified 
Squire  and  dances  at  the  Country  Club  seemed  nearly 
an  impossible  one.  But  Saturday  was  not  far  off, 
so  she  awaited  developments  with  interest.  She  de 
termined  that  she  would  look  as  pretty  as  she  could, 
by  way  of  celebration,  at  least.  There  would  be  no 
harm  in  that  whether  the  Squire  could  dance  or  not. 

When  Saturday  night  actually  came  she  dressed 
herself  with  an  excitement  she  could  not  account  for. 
She  had  been  to  dances  enough  back  in  East  Warren. 
To  be  sure,  she  had  never  been  to  a  big  dance  at  a 
hotel,  and  Grand-Uncle  Alvin  had  always  managed 
to  worry  at  her  for  the  last  two  hours  before  she 
went,  which  rather  takes  your  mind  off  being  happy. 
And  there  was  nothing  here  to  worry  about,  nothing 
at  all.  From  her  frock  to  her  shoes,  everything  was 
as  suitable  and  becoming  as  could  be.  Perhaps  that 
was  why  going  seemed  such  a  wonderful  event. 

With  a  heart  that  was  still  beating  swiftly  she 
went  in  to  show  herself  to  Martha.  Martha  and 
she  were  getting  to  be  very  fond  of  one  another  these 
days. 

"  Now,  don't  tire  yourself  out,  dear,"  Martha 
counselled  from  her  pillows.  "  You  must  be  tired 
already,  with  all  you  have  on  your  shoulders." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  laughed  Rosamond,  swinging  her 
white  silk  skirts  a  little  and  taking  an  experimental 
dance-step  or  so.  She  looked  anything  on  earth  but 


298  WHY  NOT? 

tired.  But  .  .  .  that  was  why  she  felt  so  excited, 
she  was  sure.  She  must  be  tired,  whether  she  felt  so 
or  not.  She  went  out  into  the  sweet  summer  night 
air,  and  threw  herself  into  the  corner  of  the  swing- 
seat,  waiting.  It  was  not  very  long. 

"Ready,  Rosamond?"  asked  John  Squire's  voice 
from  the  dark.  It  was  not  moonlight  this  week, 
and  all  she  could  see  was  a  dim  glimmer  of  something 
tall  and  white  standing  below  her. 

"  Quite  ready,"  she  said  with  an  excited  little 
laugh,  and  rose  and  came  down  to  him.  He  reached 
out  and  took  her  hand  to  guide  her  down  the  steps, 
and  held  it,  to  pilot  her  through  the  dark  of  the  lit 
tle  wood.  He  did  not  speak,  and  it  made  her  feel  a 
little  pleasurably  frightened,  some  way.  It  did  not 
seem  like  her  familiar  John  Squire,  somehow.  For 
one  thing,  she  had  never  seen  him  in  any  but  dark 
clothes  before.  If  he  had  worn  conventional  even 
ing  dress  it  would  have  seemed  natural  and  fitting. 
She  hoped  he  wouldn't  look  very  incongruous.  She 
wanted  him  to  look  as  well  as  he  possibly  could, 
which  was  exceedingly  well  indeed.  But  there  was 
no  chance  to  see  till  they  got  down  to  the  hotel,  it 
was  so  dark.  She  did  not  worry  —  she  thought  she 
could  trust  him  to  look  immaculate,  anyway.  They 
drove  through  the  streets  scarcely  speaking  at  all, 
but  it  was  not  an  awkward  silence.  It  seemed  rather 
as  if  it  was  better  than  talking. 

"  How  pretty  you  look !  "  he  said  as  they  mounted 


NIGHT  WATCHES  299 

the  steps  of  the  hotel  together.  It  was  almost  the 
first  thing  he  had  said.  They  were  a  little  late,  and 
she  could  hear  the  violins  playing  within.  She 
looked  up  at  him  to  smile  a  response.  But  her  smile 
checked  itself  halfway.  For  this  tall  gentleman  in 
white  who  was  looking  down  on  her  as  if  she  was  the 
most  beautiful  thing  on  earth  wasn't  her  John  Squire 
at  all.  This  was  an  entirely  new  person,  a  handsome 
young  man.  And  it  was  a  long  breath  before  Rosa 
mond  realised  what  had  happened.  It  was  all  in  the 
loss  of  those  little  black  whiskers  that  she  had  first 
hated  and  later  forgotten  about.  It  made  the  most 
amazing  difference ;  narrowed  his  face,  for  one  thing ; 
and  the  expression  of  formality  was  entirely  gone. 
His  eyes  had  always  been  wonderful,  Rosamond  re 
minded  herself,  and  his  features  good.  But  the 
change  — 

John  Squire  flushed  a  little  under  her  stare,  but 
he  smiled  back  serenely. 

"  It  occurred  to  me  this  morning  as  you  were  tele 
phoning,"  he  explained,  "  that  you  and  Jerrold  re 
garded  me  as  a  patriarch  of  forty-five  or  so,  and  the 
reason.  The  forty-fiveness  explained,  too,  some 
things  in  your  attitude  that  had  been  a  little  puz 
zling.  It  seemed  a  useless  mistake,  so  I  took  the 
quickest  way  to  correct  it.  The  world  at  large  may 
get  to  regard  me  as  fit  for  the  grave,  too,  and  it 
might  become  annoying  in  time." 

"  But  —  but  —  you're      not      old !  "      stammered 


300  WHY  NOT? 

Rosamond,  unable  to  take  her  eyes  from  his  strong, 
smooth-shaven  face,  which  had  lost  ten  years  by  the 
change. 

"But  you  thought  so,  didn't  you?"  he  persisted. 

"I  —  how  old  are  you?"  she  brought  out  des 
perately. 

"  I  shall  be  thirty-three  on  the  seventeenth  of  Oc 
tober  next,"  he  responded  with  his  characteristic 
carefulness. 

Rosamond  gasped,  not  for  the  first  time  in  their 
acquaintance.  .  .  .  And  he  really  looked  not  one  day 
older  than  he  said. 

"  Were  you  always  only  thirty-three  ?  "  she  de 
manded  fiercely. 

He  steered  her  gently  up  the  steps,  where  she 
might  have  stayed  for  some  time,  for  she  had  for 
gotten  where  she  was  in  her  surprise. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  explained  pleasantly.  "  Last  year 
I  was  thirty-two,  and  the  year  before  that  thirty- 
one,  and — " 

"  You're  teasing  me,"  she  interrupted. 

"  Ladies'  dressing-room  to  the  right,"  chanted  a 
bell-boy,  standing  in  their  way  and  showing  a  desire 
to  part  them.  "  Gentlemen  to  the  left." 

"  I  don't  suppose  there  are  any  programmes. 
We  might  as  well  dance  this,"  he  said  as  she  came 
back  to  him  from  the  dressing-room,  and  they  passed 
into  the  ballroom  together.  In  another  moment  they 
were  gliding  down  the  room,  and  Rosamond  was  dis- 


NIGHT  WATCHES  301 

covering  that  the  Country  Club  men  had  spoken  the 
truth.  John  Squire  was  a  perfect  dancer. 

"  I  do  hope  I  have  most  of  my  dances  with  you ! " 
she  said.  "  Why,  you're  one  of  the  best  dancers  I 
ever  met !  " 

He  smiled  a  little,  as  if  he  were  pleased  with  her 
saying  that. 

"  Did  you  think  I  never  did  anything  but  stay  at 
home  and  feed  the  dogs  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  think  you 
said  something  to  that  effect  once." 

"  N-no,"  said  Rosamond.  "  I  knew  you  put  in  a 
good  deal  of  time  bringing  up  such  young  women  as 
strayed  your  way." 

"  I  never  meddled  with  one  before  in  my  life,"  he 
answered  fervently. 

Then  they  both  fell  quiet,  for  Rosamond  was  re 
membering  that  Mr.  Squire  must  still  despise  her  at 
heart,  after  all,  for  having  been  kissed  by  Sydney. 
What  he  was  thinking  himself  at  that  moment  nobody 
knows,  for  his  expression  never  gave  the  least  hint 
of  what  was  going  on  inside  of  him. 

They  finished  the  dance  silently,  and  they  were 
seeking  a  veranda  by  common  consent  when  Richard 
appeared  and  caught  them. 

"  Here !  you  can't  sneak  off  that  way  when  there 
are  scarcely  enough  men  to  go  around  as  it  is,"  he 
said.  "  Besides,  I  want  to  dance  with  Miss  Gilbert." 

The  two  men  stood  together  talking,  and  Rosa 
mond  watched  them  both.  She  wondered  why  it  was 


302  WHY  NOT? 

that  Jerrold,  with  his  beauty  and  his  slim  grace, 
seemed  somehow  put  out  by  John  Squire.  Squire 
was  taller,  but  it  wasn't  that  exactly.  It  was  — 
well,  it  was  the  difference  between  a  bass  and  a  tenor 
note  on  an  organ.  She  could  get  no  nearer  it  than 
that.  And  then,  of  course,  a  man  with  such  vivid 
colouring  — "  all  red  and  white  and  black  like  a 
court  card,"  she  remembered  thinking  when  she  first 
saw  him  —  had  the  advantage  over  a  fair,  pale  man 
like  Dick,  as  far  as  impressiveness  went. 

"  You're  awfully  quiet,"  said  Dick  just  about  as 
she  thought  of  him,  turning  to  her.  "  What  are  you 
thinking  about  ?  " 

"  The  music,"  she  answered.  "  The  difference  be 
tween  bass  and  tenor  notes." 

"  We  might  as  well  use  it,"  he  said,  and  swung 
into  the  dance  with  her.  He  danced  well,  too,  yet 
somehow  differently.  It  didn't  seem  a  bit  like  the 
first  dance  she  had  had  —  stupid,  almost,  by  com 
parison. 

"  I  never  realised  what  a  good  looker  Squire  was 
before,"  he  said  presently. 

"  Isn't  he?  "  answered  Rosamond  with  sparkling 
eyes. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  something  about  him,"  he 
went  on. 

But  he  did  not  ask  it,  at  least  not  then,  because 
straight  through  the  dancers  Squire  himself  was  com 
ing  toward  them. 


NIGHT  WATCHES  303 

"  Stand  out  a  minute,  please,  Jerrold,"  he  said. 
"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  for  a  moment." 

"  The  eternal  summons ! "  half  laughed,  half  fret 
ted  Rosamond.  "  It's  that  man's  life  work,  finding 
out  what  I'm  doing  and  then  telling  me  to  stop  it." 

"  They  just  called  me  up  from  the  bungalow,"  was 
what  Mr.  Squire  had  to  say,  "  and  Martha's  worse 
again.  I  think  I  had  better  go  back  to  her.  You 
need  not,  Miss  Rosamond.  I'm  sorry  to  have  to 
hurry  away,  Jerrold,  but  I'll  send  the  car  back  for 
Miss  Gilbert.  I  know  you'll  see  that  she  has  a  good 
time." 

"  I'll  see  to  that  myself,"  said  Rosamond  unex 
pectedly.  "  I'm  going  with  you.  There  may  be 
something  I  can  do." 

And  in  spite  of  all  the  protests  the  men  could 
make,  she  proceeded  to  have  her  own  way. 

"  This  is  Dora's  night  out,"  she  reminded  Mr. 
Squire  when  they  were  speeding  back  together. 
"  Martha's  sister  may  want  somebody  to  run  errands 
or  something  like  that.  I'd  feel  dreadful  to  be 
dancing." 

"  It's  like  you,"  said  Mr.  Squire  briefly. 

"  Not  a  bit  like  me !  "  she  said  with  a  little  laugh. 
"  It's  simply  that  I'm  very  fond  of  Martha,  and  I 
want  to  do  anything  I  can  for  her." 

"You're — "  he  began,  and  then  stopped.  Men 
seemed  to  be  saying  a  great  many  things  to  her  to 
night  and  then  breaking  off. 


304  WHY  NOT? 

They  found  the  doctor  already  there  when  they 
arrived,  and  Martha  better.  But  it  proved  to  be  a 
very  fortunate  thing  that  Rosamond  had  elected  to 
come,  for  Martha  was  a  little  flighty,  and  her  rest 
lessness  took  the  form  of  wanting  both  Rosamond 
and  John  Squire  in  the  room  with  her  continuously. 
She  fretted  if  either  was  out  of  her  sight  for  an  in 
stant,  even  to  get  her  something. 

"  We'll  have  to  watch  with  her  all  night,  I'm 
afraid,"  Squire  said  in  an  undertone  to  Rosamond. 
"  I'm  sorry ;  it  will  tire  you." 

"  No  more  than  dancing  the  night  through  would, 
nor  as  much,"  she  answered  with  a  little  smile,  laying 
aside  her  cloak  and  sitting  down,  just  as  she  was, 
to  begin  her  vigil. 

Martha  dozed  a  little  at  intervals,  but  she  kept 
starting  awake  and  looking  around  for  them. 

"  You're  sure  you  brought  her  back  with  you, 
Master  Johnnie  ?  "  she  asked  several  times  restlessly. 
"  You  didn't  leave  her  down  there  with  him,  did 
you?" 

"  No,  dear,  no,"  he  would  answer  soothingly,  and 
she  would  be  quiet  for  a  little. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  Rosamond  whispered.  "  Is  she  de 
lirious  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  she's  not  quite  herself,"  he  answered 
in  the  same  tone.  "  You  know  some  people  become 
delirious  very  easily.  It  needn't  worry  you.  She 
talked  this  way  one  night  before.  She  has  an  idea 


NIGHT  WATCHES  305 

that  —  well,  that  Jerrold's  very  fond  of  you,  and 
she  doesn't  approve  of  it.  It's  only  because  she's  ill 
this  way,  and  has  fancies." 

Rosamond  flushed. 

"  I  see,"  she  said.  "  See,  Martha,  I'm  here.  No 
body's  going  to  take  me  away  from  you." 

"  That's  right,  Miss  Rosamond,"  Martha  an 
swered  drowsily,  seeming  satisfied  and  dozing  again. 

"  I'm  a  little  worried  about  her,"  Mr.  Squire  whis 
pered.  "It's  all  very  well  to  reassure  her  about 
things  she  can  be  reassured  about,  but  she's  quite  as 
likely  to  fret  because  she  wants  to  see  her  husband. 
And  as  he's  been  dead  a  matter  of  twenty  years,  I 
couldn't  produce  him  very  easily.  And  then  her 
heart  would  commence  going  badly  again." 

"Did  anything  like  that  ever  happen?"  asked 
Rosamond  softly. 

"  Yes,  and  she  nearly  died.  She  took  it  into  her 
head  one  night,  when  she  was  having  one  of  the  at 
tacks,  that  I  was  a  small  boy  again,  and  lost. 
Nothing  I  could  do  would  persuade  her  that  I  was 
with  her,  or  of  my  identity  with  her  '  Master  John 
nie.'  You  see,  she  strained  her  heart  getting  me  out 
of  a  river  when  I  was  small,  so  naturally  I  have  to 
do  everything  I  can  to  look  after  the  consequences." 

"  I  think  you  do  everything  you  can  for  every 
body  anyway,"  she  answered  impulsively,  forgetting 
in  the  half-light  that  he  was  the  young  and  good- 
looking  man  she'd  been  feeling  a  little  less  well  ac- 


306  WHY  NOT? 

quainted  with  all  the  evening.  "  I  think  you're  the 
best  man  that  ever  lived !  " 

But  she  forgot,  in  her  enthusiasm,  to  hold  her 
voice  down,  and  its  sound  woke  Martha  from  her 
feverish  doze. 

"  Miss  Rosamond,  dear,  you  aren't  quarrelling 
with  Master  Johnnie,  are  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  no,  indeed,  Martha,"  Rosamond  reassured 
her.  "  Are  we,  Mr.  Squire  ?  " 

"  That's  a  good  girl,"  said  Martha.  "  And  you 
won't  be  naughty  any  more  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  dear,"  soothed  Rosamond,  half-fright 
ened,  for  there  is  something  terrifying  in  even  light 
delirium  if  you  are  not  used  to  it. 

"  Then  kiss  him  and  say  you're  sorry,  dearie,"  said 
Martha. 

Rosamond  turned  scarlet,  and  tried  to  laugh  a  lit 
tle. 

"  I  can't  do  that,  dear.     But  I'll  say  I'm  sorry." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Rosamond,  don't  be  naughty,"  said 
Martha,  half  sitting  up  and  catching  her  breath  pain 
fully. 

"  She  thinks  we  are  children  under  her  care,"  whis 
pered  Mr.  Squire,  who  was  pale  instead  of  flushed, 
like  Rosamond. 

"  No ! "  said  Rosamond,  as  if  she  was  the  child 
Martha  thought  her.  His  bending  near  to  speak  to 
her  had  made  her  draw  back  passionately,  for  ... 
she  wanted  to  kiss  him.  "  No ! " 


NIGHT  WATCHES  307 

She  hid  her  face  on  one  bare  arm.  He  bent  closer 
still,  and  they  had  both  forgotten  all  about  Martha. 
He  drew  her  arm  away,  very  gently. 

"  Rosamond !  "  he  said  entreatingly. 

The  trance  that  had  held  her  for  a  moment  broke. 
She  sprang  up  sharply. 

"  No,  not  even  to  soothe  Martha ! "  she  said. 
"  You  —  you  would  think  I  was  the  kind  of  girl  you 
thought  I  was  —  no  —  no,  no !  " 

He  drew  back,  and  stood  perfectly  still  beside  her. 
His  eyes  burned  black,  but  his  face,  as  ever,  was 
quiet.  He  did  not  even  put  out  a  hand  toward  her. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said.  "  No,  I'd  forgotten  Mar 
tha.  I  was  in  fault.  I'd  no  excuse  — " 

Rosamond  turned  her  face  away  farther. 

"  Pd  —  nearly  forgotten  her,  too  — "  she  said 
brokenly.  "  But  you  think  I'm  that  kind  —  you 
mustn't—" 

But  Martha  was  beginning  to  cry  out.  She  could 
feel  the  disturbance  in  the  air,  and  she  was  becoming 
very  excited.  John  Squire  talked  to  her  soothingly, 
but  it  was  no  use.  Rosamond  stood  against  the  wall, 
very  still.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  help,  or  go 
away,  or  anything  at  all.  She  was  shivering  from 
head  to  foot,  and  her  cheeks  and  hands  burned.  She 
had  turned  her  face  away. 

She  became  aware  that  Squire  was  beside  her 
again. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said  once  more,  this  time  in  a 


308  WHY  NOT? 

studiously  level  voice,  "  but  this  —  is  not  discour 
tesy.  It  is  a  matter  of  necessity  to  Martha." 

He  held  Rosamond  still  where  she  stood,  very 
lightly,  and  as  lightly  touched  her  hot  cheek  with 
his  lips.  Then  he  turned  from  her  without  looking 
at  her,  and  went  to  the  cot  again. 

Rosamond  could  hear  him  speaking  to  Martha, 
and  she  saw  that  the  old  woman  was  quieting.  Pres 
ently  she  fell  into  her  drowse  once  more.  But  Ros 
amond  stood  still.  She  was  so  tired  —  so  very 
tired!  She  held  by  the  back  of  a  chair  near  her, 
and  tried  to  stand  gallantly  straight,  but  her 
trembling  was  visible. 

Squire  lifted  himself  from  bending  over  Martha, 
and  came  over  to  her  again.  He  spoke  with  an 
almost  hard  abruptness. 

"  But  you  know  —  but  you  must  have  known  — 
that  I've  wanted  to  marry  you  nearly  ever  since  I 
saw  you." 

She  let  go  the  chair  and  looked  at  him.  He  looked 
so  strong  and  so  good  —  and  she  was  so  tired  —  and 
it  had  been  so  hard  to  be  happy  lately,  and  just  to 
take  two  steps  into  his  arms  would  make  being  happy 
easier  than  breathing,  and  as  inevitable.  He  was 
happiness  as  he  stood  there  with  his  eyes  agonising 
into  hers.  She  took  one  step.  She  did  not  know 
how  her  hands  went  out  to  him  and  her  face  lighted. 
Then  she  dragged  herself  back. 

"  No,"  she  said  with  an  effort.     "  You  don't  be- 


NIGHT  WATCHES  309 

lieve  in  me.  You  don't  trust  me.  You  just  are  in 
love  with  me  more  than  you  can  keep  from  saying. 
No  —  no  —  no !  " 

He  faced  her  —  big  and  kind  and  dominant  and 
handsome  and  young.  The  blacklashed,  deep-grey 
eyes  she  had  always  loved  looked  squarely  down  into 
hers. 

"  You're  not  a  coquette,"  he  said.  "  You're  just 
as  transparently  honest  as  a  child.  I  don't  think 
you've  been  playing  with  me.  .  .  .  Don't  you 
care?" 

"  Oh,  don't ! "  she  answered  like  a  cry  of  pain. 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  me  you  don't  care?"  he 
asked  again. 

Rosamond  caught  up  her  cloak  as  if  it  was  a 
weapon,  and  flung  it  around  her.  She  threw  up  her 
head  and  looked  at  him  squarely. 

"  John,  if  I  adored  the  ground  you  walked  on  I 
couldn't  do  anything  about  it,  as  long  as  you  thought 
I  didn't  have  good  reason  for  doing  what  you  think 
it  was  wrong  for  me  to  do.  Oh,  let  me  go  —  let 
me  go ! " 

For  her  voice  had  softened  unmistakably  when 
she  spoke  of  loving  him,  and  a  man  who  knew  less 
about  women  than  John  Squire  could  have  known 
what  the  look  in  her  eyes  meant,  and  the  trembling 
of  her  lips.  And  this  time  it  was  not  lightly  that 
he  held  her.  And  for  a  moment  it  seemed  to  Ros 
amond  that  she  had  never  known  how  much  happi- 


310  WHY  NOT? 

ness  there  could  be  in  the  world.  But  she  wrenched 
away. 

"  I've  told  you,"  she  said.  "  You  have  to  believe 
in  me  first." 

Before  he  answered  she  had  run  out  of  the  room. 
He  could  hear  her  fleet  footsteps  up  the  stairs,  and 
the  tempestuous  sound  of  her  closing  door.  Neither 
of  them  slept  that  night,  but  they  kept  their  vigils 
apart. 

When  Rosamond  came  down  next  morning  he  had 
gone.  It  was  late,  for  she  had  lingered  above  pur 
posely.  She  did  not  want  to  face  him.  She  had 
never  lost  a  night's  sleep  before,  and  she  felt  very 
tired  and  languid,  and  almost  as  if  she  could  not 
feel  anything  at  all.  She  was  dimly  glad  that  she 
had  none  of  the  housework  to  do,  and  could  go  out 
side  and  lie  in  the  swing-seat.  She  did  not  try  to  eat 
anything  for  breakfast. 

She  tried  to  fix  her  mind  on  things,  to  plan,  but 
her  mind  would  not  do  it.  It  was  not  a  blank ;  that 
would  have  been  comparatively  easy.  It  was  more 
like  a  moving-picture  of  John  Squire.  She  couldn't 
say  that  he  was  in  her  mind.  He  simply  was  it. 
Every  tone  of  his  voice,  every  word  he  had  ever  said 
to  her,  everything  he  had  ever  done  for  her  or  given 
her  came  streaming  back.  Why,  it  wasn't  she  who 
had  made  Jerrold's  dream  possible.  It  was  Squire. 
He  had  smoothed  everything,  every  way,  for  her, 


NIGHT  WATCHES  311 

made  every  desire  easy  of  accomplishment.  He  had 
been  instant  in  her  service.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  she  remembered  with  a  tired  whimsicality 
one  of  the  wild  wishes  that  had  shocked  Cousin  Jenny 
so.  She  had  wanted  to  be  kissed,  just  once,  by  a 
man  she  wasn't  engaged  to.  Well,  it  had  happened, 
last  night  —  though  her  not  being  engaged  to  him 
was  her  own  fault.  She  gave  a  forlorn  little  laugh. 
But  it  wasn't  at  all  amusing.  And  there  was  no  way 
out. 

"  You  can't  marry  a  man  who  thinks  you  might 
kiss  other  people  any  time  on  the  spur  of  the  mo 
ment,"  thought  poor  Rosamond  forlornly. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  she  would  die  if  she  had  to 
talk  to  anybody  this  day.  But  out  there  on  her 
porch  she  was  defenceless  against  invaders,  and  little 
Mrs.  Browne,  toiling  up  the  steep  path  from  the 
landing,  was  a  visitor  not  to  be  denied. 

Rosamond  sat  up,  and  tried  to  look  pleased  to  see 
her. 

"  I've  had  a  letter  from  my  step-daughter,"  she 
confided  when  enough  greetings  had  been  exchanged, 
and  she  had  settled  herself  opposite  her  hostess  with 
much  rustling  of  skirts  and  patting  of  gloves  and 
veils.  "  So  I'm  not  worried  about  her,  not  a  bit 
now,  and  I  needn't  bother  you  to  look  in  the  crystal, 
Miss  —  Gilbert,  isn't  it?  " 

"  It  is,"  said  Rosamond.     "  I'm  very  glad  you've 


WHY  NOT? 

heard  from  her,"  she  added  with  weary  politeness. 
"  Did  you  come  all  this  way  up  just  to  tell  me  that?  " 
she  added  mentally,  for  she  wanted  to  stay  on  her 
swing-seat  alone,  and  think  about  John  Squire  with 
no  one  to  interrupt. 

As  if  in  answer,  Mrs.  Browne  crossed  her  hands 
on  her  lap,  fixed  her  blue  eyes  on  Rosamond,  and 
began  to  hold  forth  again. 

"  There's  another  thing  I  want  to  discuss  with 
you,"  she  went  on.  "  Do  you  mind  telling  me  just 
how  you  are  situated  as  regards  that  pretty  little 
girl  who  calls  you  Auntie  —  Alicia  ?  " 

"  She  is  no  relation  really,"  said  Rosamond  in 
the  same  tired  voice.  She  saw  no  reason  for  being 
otherwise  than  frank  about  it.  "  I  got  her  from  the 
Children's  Aid  bureau,  which  places  homeless  chil 
dren.  She  was  with  some  rather  dreadful  people 
when  I  found  her.  They  were  unkind  to  her.  She 
is  a  naturally  good,  well-bred  little  thing,  and  I  know 
she  is  happier  with  me  than  she  was  with  them. 
Only  — "  Rosamond  looked  a  little  vaguely  troubled 
— "  she  doesn't  care  for  fairy-stories,  or  climbing 
trees,  and  she  never  lets  go,  somehow.  She  makes 
me  feel  sometimes  as  if  I  were  the  child,  and  she  the 
grown  person." 

"  She  is  the  most  charming  little  girl  I  ever  knew," 
Mrs.  Browne  affirmed  enthusiastically,  "  and  as  you 
say,  a  natural-born  little  lady.  And  as  to  the  rest 
—  why  should  she  read  fairy-tales  or  climb  trees? 


NIGHT  WATCHES  313 

I  never  was  allowed  to  do  either.  She  seems  to  have 
unusual  instincts.  Well,  what  I  was  going  to  say 
was  —  in  short  —  I  should  like  to  adopt  the  child 
myself." 

"Adopt  Allie?"  asked  Rosamond,  wakened  at 
length  from  her  lethargy. 

"  You  really  are  a  little  young  to  have  complete 
charge  of  a  child  that  old,"  suggested  Mrs.  Browne 
a  little  apologetically.  "  Besides,  you  may  form 
other  ties." 

"  No,"  said  Rosamond  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  know 
I  never  shall." 

"  We  all  say  that,"  said  Mrs.  Browne  with  an  in 
dulgent  little  laugh.  "  But  seriously,  what  do  you 
think  of  my  proposition?  I'm  independently  rich. 
I  have  been  telling  Allie  something  of  this  —  we  have 
seen  quite  a  little  of  each  other  since  the  day  she 
came  down  to  the  hotel.  I  am  quite  sure  she  would 
be  contented  with  me.  I  could  give  her  many  more 
advantages  than  you  could,  and  provide  for  her  at 
my  death,  not  to  speak  of  putting  her  in  the  way  of 
a  good  marriage.  And  it  isn't  as  if  she  were  really 
yours,  or  you'd  even  had  her  long.  I  assure  you, 
she's  attached  to  me  already." 

This  struck  Rosamond  as  a  rather  unfair  pro 
ceeding.  Mrs.  Browne  had  been  plainly  wooing 
Allie  behind  her  legal  guardian's  back.  It  explained 
a  good  many  of  the  child's  newly-acquired  manner 
isms  and  little  airs  and  graces. 


WHY  NOT? 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  proposition  ?  "  per 
sisted  Mrs.  Browne. 

"  Will  you  give  me  a  little  time  ?  "  asked  Rosa 
mond.  "  Will  it  do  if  I  telephone  you,  say,  this 
afternoon?  " 

"  Certainly,"  acquiesced  Mrs.  Browne  graciously. 
"  There  is  no  such  haste  as  that."  And  after  a  little 
more  gracious  conversation,  she  departed,  leaving 
Rosamond  with  something  besides  her  lover  to  think 
about. 

But  nothing  seemed  real  except  her  relations  with 
John  Squire.  She  could  think  about  Allie  clearly, 
but  not  with  any  excitement.  It  struck  her  again 
as  unfair  that  Mrs.  Browne  should  have  tried  to  win 
the  child  before  she  said  anything,  but  that  after 
all  was  only  because  she  was  the  type  of  woman  she 
was.  She  meant  no  harm,  and  felt  as  kindly  as 
possible  to  Rosamond,  doubtless.  And  Allie's  own 
nature  —  Rosamond  could  not  hide  from  herself  that 
the  little  girl  was  more  Mrs.  Browne's  kind  of  a 
person  than  her  own.  If  Rosamond  brought  her  up 
in  her  own  gay,  careless,  unconventional  fashion,  the 
child  would  be  unhappy.  Life  with  Mrs.  Browne 
would  fit  the  child  as  a  hand  fits  a  glove. 

And  then  —  if  Rosamond  went  away,  and  she  felt 
that  she  could  not  stay  here  near  John  Squire,  as 
things  were,  there  would  be  no  place  for  Allie  with 
her.  It  would  be  better  to  provide  for  her.  The 
child's  willingness  to  go  hurt  a  little,  but  it  seemed 


NIGHT  WATCHES  315 

so  natural  to  her  disposition  that  Rosamond  could 
not  take  it  very  hard.  She  had  a  feeling  to-day  as 
if  she  could  understand  everybody's  unkind  ways, 
and  be  sorry  for  them.  .  .  .  She  was  fond  of  the 
child,  as  one  becomes  attached  to  any  housemate,  but 
she  and  Allie  were  not  the  same  kind  of  person,  and 
never  would  be.  They  could  never  speak  the  same 
language  if  they  lived  together  thirty  years.  .  .  . 
Yes,  there  was  no  question  about  it,  good  little  prim, 
positive  Allie,  whose  highest  ambition  was  to  be  a 
little  lady,  would  be  better  off  with  Mrs.  Browne. 
She  would  be  as  content  with  her  as  Sydney  had  been 
unhappy.  So,  unless  the  child  was  unwilling  to 
go  ...  Rosamond  sighed  a  little.  It  seemed  as 
though  everything  was  going.  She  felt  that  she 
wouldn't  be  surprised  if  her  bungalow  rose  in  the  air 
next,  like  Aladdin's  palace,  and  flew  away,  with  only 
a  cellar  left  behind  to  tell  the  tale. 

"  I  must  ask  Mr.  Squire  what  to  do,"  came  her 
first  automatic  impulse,  before  she  remembered.  No, 
there  was  no  more  asking  John  Squire.  She  had 
been  turning  to  him  for  everything  so  much  that  it 
left  a  very  large  empty  feeling.  Never  to  ask  him 
what  to  do  again  —  how  should  she  manage?  .  .  . 
Well,  there  was  still  Jerrold. 

She  dragged  herself  in  the  house  and  telephoned 
him. 

"  Could  you  spare  a  minute  or  so  to  advise  me 
about  something?  "  she  asked." 


316  WHY  NOT? 

Jerrold,  though  he  must  have  been  busy,  said  he 
would  be  up  in  an  hour,  and  Rosamond  went  back  to 
her  swing-seat  with  a  feeling  that  she  had  one  com 
fort  left,  if  only  a  little  one.  Jerrold  had  seemed 
quieter  and  less  light  hearted  with  her  lately,  as  if  he 
was  working  too  hard.  That  was  a  pity.  It  would 
have  been  pleasant  if  he  had  been  brighter.  But  he 
remained  to  her  out  of  the  wreck.  She  would  try  to 
see  a  very  great  deal  of  him;  make  him  seem  like  a 
real  piece  of  her  life,  not  just  trimmings. 

When  he  came  she  welcomed  him  with  as  much  of 
her  old  gaiety  as  she  could  produce.  She  was  in 
a  half  unhappy,  half  excited  state,  for  even  if  you 
can't  marry  people  because  they  don't  trust  you,  it 
is  a  consolation  to  know  they  love  you.  .  .  .  She 
dragged  her  mind  back  from  its  persistent  questing 
off  after  John  Squire,  and  had  Richard  sit  down  by 
her. 

"  What  on  earth's  that  ?  "  she  asked,  as  he  pro 
duced  a  package  of  dimensions  from  his  hat,  which 
had  been  in  his  hand. 

"  That,"  said  Richard  cheerfully,  "  is  a  Realised 
Dream.  Your  voice  sounded  mournful  over  the  tele 
phone,  so  I  brought  you  something  you  said  you 
wanted,  once.  You  told  me  you  had  a  passionate 
desire  to  eat  ice-cream  in  the  morning.  This  is  the 
ice-cream,  and  this  — "  he  waved  his  hand  largely 
around  — "  is  the  morning.  Have  you  spoons  ?  " 

Rosamond  began  to  laugh  quite  spontaneously  as 


NIGHT  WATCHES  317 

she  went  in  after  spoons  and  plates.  They  ate  the 
ice-cream  solemnly,  as  if  it  was  more  or  less  of  a 
rite,  and  she  began  to  feel  happier.  After  they  were 
quite  done  (it  really  did  have  a  daring  and  enjoyable 
feeling,  especially  as  Rosamond  had  had  no  break 
fast)  she  put  her  problem  to  Richard.  It  seemed 
queer  to  ask  him,  not  John  Squire. 

"  Let  Mrs.  Browne  have  the  child  by  all  means," 
Richard  advised  her  promptly.  "  You  and  Allie 
could  never  be  a  real  comfort  to  each  other.  No 
matter  how  fond  you  were  of  one  another  you  would 
always  be  getting  on  each  other's  nerves,  when  she 
grew  old  enough  to  be  a  personage  in  the  house.  In 
a  few  years  she  would  be  bringing  you  up.  You've 
done  everything  you  can  do  for  her,  and  it  wouldn't 
be  fair  for  you  to  let  her  pass  up  this  opportunity. 
Anyhow,  if  I  know  Mrs.  Browne,  when  she  wants  a 
thing  she  gets  it.  If  you  refuse,  she  may  go  to  the 
Children's  Aid  and  convince  them  that  she's  a  better 
guardian  of  youth  than  you.  She's  a  nice  little 
soul,  thoroughly  feminine,  but — " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Rosamond.  "  You  needn't 
go  on.  Thoroughly  feminine  explains  it.  If  Allie 
wants  to,  and  I'm  fairly  sure  she  does,  she  goes, 
and  learns  to  be  a  '  porch-cat,'  as  a  friend 
of  mine  would  say.  Well,  I  suppose  it's  her  destiny. 
Oh,  dear,  Dick,  what  would  I  do  without  you? 
You're  the  only  dream  that's  going  right  a 
bit!  ...  Is  the  hotel  going  right?" 


318  WHY  NOT? 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  answered  indifferently.  "  I'll  have 
enough  money  to  give  the  engine  a  start,  even  if  I 
don't  sell  to  Chisum.  But  it's  pretty  certain  that  I 
will." 

"  You  don't  sound  as  if  you  cared,"  she  said. 
"What's  the  matter,  Dick?" 

"  Nothing,"  he  answered.  "  I  keep  a  porch-cat 
tery  myself,  you  know,  and  it's  a  bit  wearing  at 
times." 

She  looked  at  his  tired  face. 

"Tell  me,  please,"  she  said.  "You  know  I  do 
know  how  to  help.  Dicky,  what  have  they  been  do 
ing  to  you  ?  " 

"  I'd  rather  not  go  into  it,"  said  he. 

"  I'd  rather  you  would,"  she  persisted. 

"Well,  if  you  will  have  it,"  he  burst  out,  swing 
ing  round  to  face  her,  "  it's  been  hard  .  .  .  giving 
you  up." 

"  Giving  me  up ! "  echoed  Rosamond,  sitting  back 
aghast. 

"  Oh,  I  know  I  never  had  you  to  give,"  he  as 
sented,  "  but  there  was  a  while  when  —  well,  when  I 
thought  I  could  make  you  like  me.  It  all  seemed  to 
fit  in,  you  and  I  getting  married,  and  sailing  off  to 
have  a  wild  good  time,  you  and  your  fairy-tales  and 
your  laughter  and  your  *  why  nots  ?  '  Then  —  well, 
of  course  pretty  soon  I  began  to  see  how  things 
were  between  you  and  Squire,  and  I  just  dropped 


NIGHT  WATCHES  319 

out.  I  wasn't  the  prince  in  your  fairy-tale,  after 
all.  ...  Oh,  it's  all  right.  As  long  as  my  engine 
goes  through  I'll  have  something  to  go  on  with. 
I'm  getting  over  it,"  he  went  on  with  the  appalling 
frankness  of  the  one-ideaed;  or  it  may  have  been 
bravery,  Rosamond  never  decided  which.  "  That's 
all.  I'm  not  going  to  stop  being  friends  with  you, 
Rosamond.  There  are  few  enough  people  like  you 
in  the  world  —  I  don't  want  to  miss  any  I  can 
help.  .  .  .  Guess  I'll  go  now.  I  have  a  lot  to  do 
down  there.  Call  me  up  any  time  you  want  any 
help  about  things." 

He  was  off  down  the  path,  shoulders  up,  fair  crest 
of  hair  blowing  in  the  wind,  before  Rosamond  could 
answer  or  contradict  him. 

She  made  no  effort  to  call  him  back.  She  knew 
that  what  he  had  said  he  meant.  They  were  going 
to  be  friends  always,  just  the  same.  But  she  couldn't 
ask  him  to  be  anything  more  than  friends,  because 
things  were  "  between  her  and  Squire."  She  knew 
suddenly  that  if  she  couldn't  have  John  there  wasn't 
any  one  else  she  wanted.  Only  —  one's  last  prop 
gone! 

After  that  it  scarcely  mattered  that  Allie,  sum 
moned  to  the  bungalow  to  give  her  views  on  being 
passed  over  to  Mrs.  Browne,  appeared  as  willing  as 
Mrs.  Browne  had  said  she  would  be. 

"  You'd  be  getting  married,  she  said,"  remarked 


320  WHY  NOT? 

Allie,  "  an'  I'd  be  in  the  way.  Ill  like  it  all  right 
—  only  — "  Allie  clung  to  Rosamond  for  a  moment 
— "  only  I  can  see  you  lots,  can't  I  ?  " 

"  Just  as  much  as  ever  you  like,  darling,"  Rosa 
mond  assured  her.  "  And  I  don't  want  you  to  go 
unless  you're  perfectly  willing." 

"  I'll  try  it,"  said  Allie. 

She  seemed  non-committal.  After  all,  a  child  who 
has  been  passed  from  hand  to  hand  all  her  life  can 
not  be  otherwise.  So  that  was  settled,  too.  And 
Mrs.  Browne  came  and  got  Allie  that  afternoon,  and 
Rosamond  sat  in  the  ruins  of  her  dreams  and  thought 
about  Cousin  George  and  the  joys,  after  all,  of 
stenography  or  private  secretarying.  Maybe  John 
Squire  would  come  in  some  time,  far,  far  off,  and 
dictate  a  letter.  And  his  wife  would  be  with  him, 
a  very  haughty,  stiff,  handsome  blonde  person  with 
diamonds  and  an  air  of  ownership.  And  she  would 
take  the  letter  beautifully,  and  after  they  were  gone 
she  would  cry,  and  cry  and  cry.  .  .  . 

So  she  did  not  wait  for  that  nightmare  future. 
She  curled  down  just  where  she  was,  for  the  cushion 
was  soft  and  could  sop  up  tears  admirably.  And  she 
cried  and  cried  and  cried. 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

THE  LAST  DEEAM 

THINGS  were  very  forlorn.  Allie  was  gone. 
The  Knightly  Lover  had  given  Rosamond  up. 
Even  Martha,  who  was  some  comfort,  would  be  bet 
ter  soon  and  leave  her.  There  didn't  seem  to  be 
anything  at  all  to  anything. 

Rosamond  went  in  after  she  had  cried  thoroughly, 
and  washed  the  tears  off.  She  bathed  and  dressed 
for  the  afternoon  in  the  prettiest  clothes  she  could 
find,  with  a  view  to  comforting  herself  a  little.  Then 
she  went  back  to  the  living-room  and  sat  on  the 
couch.  She  was  afraid  more  callers  would  come  if 
she  went  outside. 

It  was  the  most  detestable  time  of  day,  with  the 
freshness  of  the  morning  gone,  and  the  relaxation  of 
the  evening  not  yet  come.  The  sunlight  felt  glaring 
and  the  room  stale.  She  hadn't  the  courage  to  do 
anything  to  occupy  her  time.  She  had  dogged 
thoughts  of  going  back  to  live  with  Cousin  George 
and  repentantly  taking  up  stenography,  and  never, 
never,  never  doing  anything  to  make  herself  or  any 
body  else  happy  again  as  long  as  she  lived.  .  .  . 

321 


WHY  NOT? 

But.  .  .  .  Supposing  she  broke  her  promise  to  Syd 
ney,  and  told  John  Squire  that  it  was  a  girl  she  had 
kissed  on  the  train?  .  .  .  Even  then  he  mightn't  be 
lieve  her.  It  did  sound  wild.  So  many  true  things 
do;  they  are  not  as  artistic  as  made-by-hand 
lies.  .  .  .  But  she  couldn't  break  her  promise. 
Honour  was  honour,  and  as  long  as  Sydney  chose  to 
masquerade  up  at  Green's  Corners,  so  long  Rosa 
mond  must  keep  the  secret.  .  .  .  John  Squire  loved 
her.  But  he  couldn't  trust  her  not  to  do  wild  things. 
She  knew  that,  and  it  hurt.  Because  Rosamond  her 
self  not  only  loved  him,  but  she  trusted  him  abso 
lutely.  Nobody  could  help  trusting  John  Squire,  to 
be  sure.  But  it  wasn't  fair  —  oh,  it  wasn't  fair  that 
it  shouldn't  be  even. 

"  You  can't  marry  people  when  they  won't  believe 
that  you  might  have  good  reasons  for  being  kissed 
by  another  man,"  said  Rosamond  desolately  to  Dar 
ling,  who,  with  his  unfailing  instinct  for  being  a  com 
forter  in  trouble,  had  slid  out  of  his  basket  and  was 
looking  up  at  her.  She  pulled  him  into  her  arms  and 
went  on  thinking  —  thinking  around  in  circles. 
They  were  perfectly  water-tight  circles.  Not  all 
her  tears  washed  out  one  bit  of  them.  She  was  still 
sitting  in  a  heap  with  her  head  on  one  hand,  patting 
Darling  mechanically  with  the  other,  when  without  any 
warning  at  all,  John  Squire  came  in  and  over  to  her 
without  a  word.  He  lifted  the  dog  gently  off  her 
lap,  and  as  gently  put  his  arm  around  her,  and  be- 


THE  LAST  DREAM 

gan  to  reason  with  her  as  if  she  were  a  child.  She 
was  too  tired  and  unhappy  to  resist  him. 

"  Is  there  any  reason  on  earth,"  he  said,  "  for 
making  yourself  miserable,  and  me  miserable,  and 
spoiling  everything  for  both  of  us  for  always?  Or, 
at  least,  spoiling  things  for  me,"  he  amended,  exact 
even  in  his  love-making.  "  I  suppose  you'll  marry 
somebody  else  sometime.  You're  too  lovely  and  too 
attractive  to  be  let  alone."  She  felt  his  arm  tighten 
jealously  about  her  at  the  thought.  "  I  shan't  get 
over  it,  I'm  afraid.  I  don't  get  through  with  things 
quickly,  worse  luck." 

"  Neither  do  I !  Neither  do  I !  "  cried  Rosamond 
stormily,  flinging  self-control  to  the  winds,  and  her 
arms  around  his  neck.  "  I'll  never,  never  care  for 
anybody  but  you  as  long  as  I  live,  and  you  know  it ! 
You  have  no  business  to  think  I  could!  If  you 
really  trusted  me  you'd  know  I'd  care  always,  if  you 
died  this  minute.  It's  been  coming  on  ever  since 
I  saw  you.  There's  nobody  like  you  on  earth. 
There  isn't  another  man  on  earth  that  I  care  if  he 
lives  or  dies.  And  I  know  you  couldn't  do  anything 
wrong,  even  if  I  caught  you  standing  over  Martha 
with  a  big  red  knife  you'd  just  pulled  out  of  her. 
I'd  just  say  —  why,  I'd  say:  *  He  had  to  do  it,  or 
he  never  would  have !  It's  a  thing  everybody  does ! ' 
and  it's  cruel  and  unfair  that  you  won't  feel  the  same 
way  to  me." 

He  put  his  other  arm  around  her. 


324  WHY  NOT? 

"  But,  darling,  I  can't,"  he  explained.  "  Facts 
are  facts." 

"  They  are  no  such  thing !  "  said  Rosamond.  "  Or 
at  least  there  wouldn't  be  if  you  loved  me  one  bit  as 
I  love  you." 

"  I  can't  believe  that  it  was  all  right  for  you  to 
Jet  a  man  you'd  only  known  one  day  kiss  you,"  he 
said.  "  But  I  want  to  forget  all  about  it,  and  start 
over.  Won't  you  be  merciful  and  let  that  do,  sweet 
heart?  Oh,  Rosamond,  if  you  knew  how  lonely  I 
was,  and  how  much  more  I  need  you  than  anybody 
else  could  anybody  else  with  other  people  to  care  for, 
you'd  give  in.  There's  nothing  else  on  earth  for  me 
but  you.  I  can't  think  differently  from  my  real 
thoughts,  child.  I  don't  think  you  want  me  to  lie 
to  you.  But  isn't  this  a  small  thing,  to  make  two 
people  who  love  each  other  as  we  do  unhappy  for? 
Real  love  is  a  very  rare  thing,  Rosamond.  And  it's 
a  rarer  thing  still  when  two  people  have  real  love, 
each  for  the  other.  And  I  think  we  have.  We 
mustn't  waste  it,  dear.  The  world  isn't  full  of  it." 

Rosamond  had  kept  her  eyes  on  his  face  while  he 
talked,  like  a  child.  Now  she  laid  her  head  down 
on  his  shoulder  again,  as  if  it  were  a  very  logical 
resting-place  for  it,  and  answered  him.  Her  move 
ment  was  like  a  child's,  but  it  was  not  the  gay,  child 
ishly  happy,  whimsical  Rosamond  he  knew  that  spoke. 
It  was  a  womanly  Rosamond,  who  had  what  seemed 
an  older  wisdom. 


THE  LAST  DREAM  325 

"  It  is  just  because  we  do  love  each  other  in  every 
way  there  is  that  I  can't  give  in,  my  dear,"  she  said 
quietly.  "  It's  such  a  good  love  that  I  want  it  to 
be  perfect,  or  not  there  at  all.  And  until  you  can 
trust  me,  in  spite  of  appearances,  as  blindly  as  I 
would  trust  you,  there  can't  be  anything.  I  don't 
want  condonation  because  I  am  a  dear,  irresponsible 
child  whom  you  love  too  much  not  to  forgive.  .  .  . 
So  till  you  can  believe  in  me  against  your  own  eyes, 
I  think  we  had  better  not  see  any  more  of  each 
other.  .  .  .  Because.  .  .  .  I'd  give  in  if  I  did.  So 
I'm  going  back  to  East  Warren.  I've  had  a  very 
happy  time  here,  and  perhaps  I  can  have  one  there. 
Why  .  .  .  why  not?" 

But  it  was  a  forlorn  little  "  why  not  ?  "  and  it 
hurt  John  Squire  to  hear  it. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  said,  the  more  brusquely  because 
of  the  hurt.  "  Because  you  won't  have  any  of  the 
materials.  If  you  love  me  as  you  say  you  do,  I'll 
be  in  your  mind  too  much  for  you  to  collect  your 
thoughts  about  being  happy.  Rosamond  dar- 
ling—" 

Rosamond,  whose  ears  were  quick,  sprang  away 
from  him,  and  leaped  to  her  feet  with  her  cheeks 
burning.  John  Squire  sat  still  and  looked  as  if  noth 
ing  had  happened.  For  the  door  had  been  flung 
open  without  the  shadow  of  a  ceremony,  and  Syd 
ney,  dusty,  stained  and  crumpled  —  Sydney,  the  fons 
et  origo  mali,  burst  in. 


326  WHY  NOT? 

She  did  not  seem  to  notice  Rosamond's  tear-marked 
face,  nor  the  man  on  the  couch.  She  was  too  much 
interested  in  her  own  troubles. 

"  Rosamond ! "  she  panted,  "  I've  got  to  have  my 
clothes  this  minute !  " 

"  Does  Miss  Gilbert  look  after  your  laundry  as 
a  part  of  her  duties  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Squire  rebuk- 
ingly.  Naturally,  he  hated  this  young  man. 

"  You  don't  understand,"  answered  Rosamond, 
whose  face  had  lighted  rapturously  at  this  blessed 
chance  of  a  way  out.  "  Sydney,  go  upstairs  and  get 
a  bath.  I'll  be  up  with  your  things  before  you  need 
them.  There's  a  red  kimono  behind  my  door,  and 
the  towels  are  in  the  cedar  chest." 

Sydney  mounted  the  stairs  two  at  a  time,  and  Ros 
amond  turned  swiftly  to  her  lover. 

"  Have  you  enough  faith  in  me  to  wait  here  for 
another  half  hour,  while  I  go  up  and  look  after  Syd 
ney  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  If  you  have  you  may  get 
your  explanation." 

She  was  being  as  nearly  defiant  as  she  could  man 
age,  but  her  voice  and  face  were  tender  in  spite  of 
her. 

John  Squire  bent  and  kissed  her  gently. 

"  My  dear  little  girl,  I  will  wait  just  as  long  as 
you  want  me  to,"  he  answered.  "  Go  up  and  look 
after  your  friend." 

They  were  both  too  excited  to  realise  that  he  was 


THE  LAST  DREAM  327 

trusting  her  about  as  fully  as  she  could  ever  require 
him  to. 

Rosamond  kissed  him  back  gratefully,  and  ran  up. 
Sydney  made  short  work  of  her  bath,  and  by  the 
time  Rosamond  had  her  clothes  assembled  she  was 
ready  for  them.  She  sat  down  on  her  friend's  bed 
and  began  to  hurry  them  on. 

"  What  makes  you  in  so  much  of  a  hurry  ?  "  Ros 
amond  asked,  very  naturally,  as  Sydney  "madly 
crammed  a  right-hand  foot  into  a  left-hand  shoe." 

"  I  told  Mattison  to  be  here  in  half  an  hour,"  said 
Sydney,  as  she  stopped  to  fasten  her  slippers.  They 
were  the  same  graceful  white  kid  things  she  had 
kicked  off  so  scornfully  not  so  very  long  before. 
"  He's  horribly  punctual,  and  I  lost  time  falling  in 
a  creek." 

"  Oh,  then  you've  told  him  — " 

"  I  haven't  told  him  anything,"  said  Sydney. 
"  I'm  going  to  show  him." 

She  sat  up  and  began  fastening  something  else. 
Her  cheeks  were  brilliant  through  the  tan,  and  her 
eyes  were  bright.  She  had  filled  out  and  gained 
grace  and  poise,  out  in  the  woods.  She  had  also 
gained  three  inches  chest  and  two  waist-measure,  and 
her  linen  gown  of  that  bygone  day  simply  would  not 
meet  at  all.  So  Rosamond  had  to  produce  one  of 
her  own  dresses,  a  heavy  white  tussore  that  merci 
fully  could  have  a  yellow  sash  added  to  it.  It  was 


328  WHY  NOT? 

short  for  Sydney,  but  none  the  less  becoming  for 
that,  because  it  showed  the  dainty  silk-clad  ankles 
and  small,  prettily-shod  feet  that  poor  Sydney  had 
dreamed  of  through  so  many  evenings  of  substantial 
buckskin  ties.  Sydney  let  Rosamond  clasp  amber 
beads  around  her  neck,  and  herself  suggested  yellow 
ribbons  at  the  sleeve-ruffles. 

When  it  was  all  done  she  looked  in  the  glass  with 
what  began  to  be  a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  But  it 
turned  into  a  very  mournful  one,  as  she  said,  "  Oh, 
my  hair ! " 

"  I  got  a  transformation  for  you,  and  there's  still 
that  double  plait.  I  think  I  can  do  it,"  said  Rosa 
mond  hopefully.  She  was  as  much  excited  as  Syd 
ney.  "  Your  hair's  pretty  long  for  a  boy." 

"  I  haven't  had  it  cut  since  I  went  away.  I  —  I 
couldn't,  somehow,"  confessed  Sydney.  "What's  a 
transformation?  " 

"  A  sort  of  portiere  of  hair  that  you  fasten  round 
your  head,  and  it  pulls  up  over  or  under  our  real 
hair,"  answered  Rosamond,  getting  it  out  and  going 
to  work. 

It  wasn't  easy,  but  between  transformation  and 
plait,  and  a  final  yellow  ribbon,  they  managed  to 
make  a  very  stately  lady  out  of  Syd  the  late  Green's 
Corners  kid. 

"  You're  lots  better  looking,"  said  Rosamond. 
"  Why,  you're  positively  handsome,  my  dear.  What 
have  you  been  doing?  " 


THE  LAST  DREAM  329 

"  Falling  in  love,"  Sydney  answered  with  prompt 
frankness.  "  Rosamond,  I'm  nearly  crazy.  For 
heaven's  sake,  don't  ask  any  questions.  I'm  either 
going  to  hate  you  for  the  rest  of  my  life  for  sug 
gesting  this  insane  performance  of  mine,  or  adore 
you  to  my  dying  day,  and  teach  my  children  to  after 
me.  I'll  know  in  about  ten  minutes.  Oh,  Rosa 
mond,  don't  ask  me !  " 

"  I'm  not  likely  to,"  said  Rosamond,  who  guessed 
pretty  accurately  for  one  thing,  and  was  rather  oc 
cupied  by  her  own  problems  for  another. 

"  I'm  ready  to  go  now,"  said  Sydney,  after  she 
had  used  powder  and  perfumes  luxuriously. 

"  All  right,  go  ahead,"  said  Rosamond  cheerfully. 

"  I  can't ! "  quivered  Sydney  in  a  sudden  access  of 
fright.  "  He  might  be  down  there  before  you  came, 
and  I  don't  dare  face  him  alone." 

"  Then  wait  till  I  wash  my  face,"  said  Rosa 
mond. 

"  Oh,  you've  been  crying,"  Sydney  bethought  her 
self  to  notice.  "  What's  the  matter?  " 

Rosamond  went  over  to  the  stationary  washstand 
in  the  corner  of  her  room  and  began  to  splash  her 
face  with  cold  water. 

"  I'll  only  say  what  you  said  to  me,"  she  returned 
from  the  depths  of  a  towel,  "  in  ten  minutes  I'll  either 
love  you  or  hate  you  to  my  dying  day." 

"  Then  there's  a  man,"  said  Sydney,  pacing  the 
floor  in  her  impatience  to  go.  "  Come  to  think  of 


330  WHY  NOT? 

it,  I  did  see  one  on  the  couch,  when  I  tore  through. 
Big,  stunning  looking  one." 

"  There  was,"  said  Rosamond  dryly,  straightening 
her  loosed  hair  before  the  glass.  "  Come  on  down 
stairs."  She  was  her  usual  buoyant,  half-laughing, 
half-whimsical  self  by  now.  "  Come  on  down  and 
meet  him." 

She  led  the  way  swiftly,  laughing  under  her  breath 
as  she  went:  the  old  Rosamond  to  whom  this  world 
was  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds. 

"  Mr.  Squire,"  she  began  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
catching  Sydney's  hand  and  pulling  her  along, 
"  this  is  Miss  Browne,  a  friend  of  mine  you  have 
seen  twice  before.  Do  you  remember  where  and 
when?" 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  grasping  the  situation. 

"  Do  you  mean  — " 

"  I  told  you  there  was  a  good  reason,"  said  Ros 
amond,  laughing  joyously.  "Didn't  I?" 

John  Squire  paid  very  little  attention  to  the  fact 
of  a  third  person's  presence.  He  flung  his  arm 
around  Rosamond's  waist  in  a  way  that  would  have 
shocked  Mrs.  Browne,  not  to  say  Cousin  George,  and 
pulled  her  close.  He  held  out  his  unoccupied  hand 
to  Sydney. 

"  Miss  Browne,  words  are  inadequate  to  tell  you 
how  glad  I  am  to  meet  you ! "  said  he  fervently. 

But  Sydney  scarcely  heard,  nor  stopped  to  be 
shocked  at  an  embrace  performed  in  her  presence. 


THE  LAST  DREAM  331 

She  was  listening  to  footsteps,  and  for  a  knock  which 
came  a  moment  later. 

"  Oh,  Rosamond,  I  can't  face  him ! "  she  said  in 
terror.  "  You  go !  " 

She  made  for  the  stairs,  but  Rosamond  was  too 
quick  for  her,  and  blocked  the  way. 

"  Open  the  door,  John ! "  she  said  hurriedly,  and 
John  Squire  smiled  and  obeyed. 

It  admitted  a  hurried  and  dusty  young  man,  who 
looked  around  him  as  if  in  search  of  some  one  he 
did  not  see. 

"  Come  in,  Mr.  Mattison,"  welcomed  Rosamond 
from  where  she  held  the  stair.  "  Here  is  Sydney 
Browne,  whom  I  think  you  are  looking  for." 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  "  demanded  Sydney  in  a  be 
wildered  whisper. 

"  I  sent  him  to  you,  dear,"  Rosamond  responded, 
with  the  imp  of  mischief  shining  behind  her  eyes. 
"  The  least  you  can  do  is  to  be  polite  to  him." 

Mattison  seemed  a  worthy  subject  for  courtesy, 
for  he  came  toward  the  girls  with  a  look  of  utter 
bewilderment  on  his  face.  Sydney  seemed  tongue- 
tied.  She  struggled  to  get  away  from  Rosamond's 
hold.  Mattison,  too,  seemed  unable  to  say  anything. 
So  on  Rosamond  fell  the  burden  of  explanation. 

"  Sydney  Browne  is  a  girl,"  she  said  to  Mattison 
very  slowly  and  clearly.  "  She  always  was.  She 
went  off  into  the  woods  to  be  a  boy  because  she  wanted 
to  get  away  from  the  insincerity  and  frivolity  she'd 


332  WHY  NOT? 

always  believed  were  an  inseparable  part  of  girl-life. 
I'd  think  you'd  better  ask  her  yourself  why  she's  go 
ing  back  to  being  one  again.  If  you  don't  hold  her 
wrists  she'll  get  away.  .  .  .  Take  her,  for  goodness 
sake!  .  .  .  John,  we  can  talk  just  as  well  out 
side." 

She  pushed  Sydney's  wrists  into  the  hands  of  the 
still  dazed  Mattison,  who,  however,  managed  to  hold 
them  tight.  Rosamond  laughed  sweetly,  and  with 
shining  eyes  and  flushed  cheeks  slipped  out,  toward 
the  little  wood  beyond  her  bungalow.  John  Squire 
followed  close  behind.  But  as  they  went  they  could 
see  that  Mattison  had  caught  Sydney  by  the 
shoulders. 

"  Is  it  real,  kid?  "  they  heard  him  say.  "  It  can't 
be.  It's  all  the  wonderful  things  in  the  world  come 
true." 

And  Sydney,  flinging  herself  against  his  arm,  was 
cryingt  passionately,  "  Oh,  you  do  care  for  me,  don't 
you,  Jim,  better  than  anybody  else  —  better  than 
anybody  else  at  all?  " 

Rosamond,  softly  shutting  the  door,  smiled  up  at 
3ohn  Squire. 

"  I  never  asked  you  that,"  she  said,  slipping  her 
hand  in  his. 

"  That  was  because  you  knew,  my  dear,"  said  he. 
'*'  And  —  you'll  forgive  me  ?  " 

Rosamond  laughed. 

"  Why,  of  course !  "  said  she.     "  Because  7  love  you 


THE  LAST  DREAM  333 

better  than  anybody  else  —  better  than  anybody  else 
at  all!" 

They  were  kind,  and  they  stayed  wandering  in  the 
little  woods  for  quite  a  while.  By  the  time  they  came 
back  Sydney  and  Mattison  were  sitting  comradely 
side  by  side  in  the  swing-seat,  and  they  had  appar 
ently  settled  everything.  Sydney's  short  black  hair 
hung  loose  about  her  face. 

"  Jim  says  those  braids  and  things  are  in  the  way, 
and  he  likes  it  best  this  way  anyhow,"  she  explained 
as  Rosamond  bent  forward  and  bound  the  straight, 
thick  locks  fillet-wise  with  the  yellow  ribbon.  "  I'm 
going  down  to  stay  with  Adeline  at  the  hotel  to-night. 
I  called  her  up,  and  she's  so  pleased  to  find  that  I 
didn't  go  mad  in  that  mythical  sanatorium  that  she 
never  asked  one  question.  Jim's  going  to  stay  there 
too  —  he's  a  friend  of  the  manager.  We  were  just 
waiting  till  you  came  back  to  say  good-bye.  All 
my  trunks  are  there." 

In  Sydney's  eyes  there  gleamed  at  last  the  normal 
feminine  look,  twin  to  love  of  man  —  love  of  clothes 
to  look  beautiful  for  him  in.  "  There's  a  crepe-de- 
chine  nightgown  among  my  things  upstairs,  that  I've 
never  worn,"  she  added  in  a  lower  tone.  "  Please 
keep  it,  Rosamond,  as  a  remembrancer." 

She  did  not  know  why  Rosamond  laughed. 

"  The  last  dream !  "  said  she.  "  Thank  you,  Syd 
ney.  I  happened  to  want  one  badly.  My  canoe's  at 
the  dock.  Send  it  back  by  one  of  the  coloured  boys 


WHY  NOT? 

when  you  get  ready.  John  —  I'm  going  to  kiss  Syd 
ney  again ! " 

She  looked  mischievously  over  her  shoulder  at  her 
lover,  as  she  kissed  Sydney  heartily.  But  he  only 
smiled.  And  the  porch-seat  was  their  own  again,  by 
daylight  and  starlight. 

It  was  starlight  when  they  sat  there  once  more, 
for  telling  Martha  all  about  it  took  a  long,  confused, 
happy  time,  and  then  it  was  time  for  their  dinner  to 
gether.  After  it  was  over  John  went  back  to  his  own 
forgotten  house  for  a  little  while,  to  see  that  every 
thing  was  going  smoothly  there.  When  he  returned 
Rosamond  ran  swiftly  down  the  path  to  meet  him. 

"  John !  "  she  called  gladly.  "  I've  just  remem 
bered  something  —  something  wonderful !  I've  real 
ised  all  my  dreams,  every  single  one!  All  the 
things  I  came  here  wanting.  I've  been  sitting  here 
counting  them  over.  All." 

"  Do  you  want  to  tell  me  about  it  ?  "  he  asked, 
sitting  down  beside  her  .in  the  swing-seat  again. 

"  Of  course !  In  fact,  I  have  to.  I  want  to  tell 
you  everything  as  long  as  I  live,  and  as  long  as  it 
won't  bore  you." 

He  laughed  at  that. 

"  The  minute  you  enter  the  room  boredom  leaves," 
he  assured  her.  "  Tell  me,  please,  or  I'll  think  you 
haven't  fully  decided  to  share  my  joys  and  sorrows." 

She  leaned  back  against  his  arm  and  began  to  count 
them  over  on  her  fingers. 


THE  LAST  DREAM  335 

"  I  wanted  a  house  on  the  edge  of  the  woods,"  she 
said.  "  This  was  it.  I  bought  it  of  a  big  man  I 
was  rather  afraid  of." 

"  He  was  rather  afraid  of  you,"  Squire  answered. 

"  You  seem  to  have  recovered,"  suggested  Rosa 
mond.  "  Well,  the  next  thing  was  —  a  Livonian 
bloodhound.  And  I  got  that." 

She  laughed  a  little  but  he  remained  quite  serious. 

"  No,  you  didn't,  but  you  shall,"  he  said.  "  You 
were  right  and  we  were  wrong.  There  are  Livonian 
bloodhounds.  Livonia's  below  Finland  —  belongs  to 
Russia.  The  dogs  are  quite  famous.  I  ought  to 
have  known  it.  It  will  take  a  little  time  to  get  you 
a  really  fine  specimen,  but  he's  ordered." 

"  Oh,  how  lovely !  "  said  Rosamond.  "  Because 
Livy  ought  to  be  thrown  in  with  Allie,  anyway.  I'll 
keep  him  till  then.  .  .  .  Well  —  to  go  on,  I  wanted 
to  tell  fortunes  for  a  living.  I  didn't  exactly  do 
that." 

"  I  think  you  have  told  all  our  fortunes,"  he  said, 
"  or  created  them ;  mine  and  Jerrold's  and  Miss 
Browne's  and  Allie's  and  Mr.  Mattison's." 

"  Why,  so  I  have !  "  said  Rosamond  happily.  "  At 
least,  I've  helped  get  things  straight,  haven't  I? 
Well,  and  I  wanted  to  be  looked  up  to.  Allie  did  that 
for  awhile.  I  think  she  was  dangerously  near  getting 
over  it." 

"  I  look  up  to  you  myself,"  suggested  her  lover, 
"  if  it's  any  help." 


WHY  NOT? 

"  Important  if  true,"  said  Rosamond.  "  We'll  let 
that  pass.  .  .  .  You  seem  to  be  getting  into  all  my 
dreams,  John  Squire !  .  .  .  And  I  wanted  a  silk  night 
gown.  Sydney  gave  me  that  just  before  she  went. 
And  ice-cream  in  the  forenoon  —  Jerrold  brought  me 
up  some  this  very  morning,  and  you  don't  know  how 
soothing  it  was.  My  heart  was  nearly  broken." 

"Poor  little  girl!  Well,  I'll  know  how  to  keep 
you  happy,  then,"  said  he.  "  What  next  ?  " 

"  To  —  I'd  rather  not  tell  that,"  said  Rosamond, 
getting  pink.  "  You  mightn't  — " 

"  Stop  that ! "  said  he  rather  peremptorily. 
"  After  this  I  shall  believe  in  you,  even  if  you  tell  me 
yourself  I  shouldn't." 

"  Well,  if  you're  sure,"  said  she.  "  It  was  —  to 
be  kissed  just  once  by  some  one  I  wasn't  engaged  to. 
But  it  was  you,"  she  hastened  to  add.  "  And  it  was 
plenty.  I  don't  want  that  any  more.  You  see,  I 
never  did  have  any  man  kiss  me  but  you,  and  it 
seemed  mortifying,  a  little.  Most  girls  have,  I'm 
sure." 

"  You  are  an  angel,"  said  John  Squire,  quite  ir 
relevantly  as  it  seemed  to  Rosamond,  "  and  there 
isn't  a  man  on  earth  good  enough  for  you.  But  I'm 
glad  I  have  the  position." 

"  So  am  I,  of  course,"  said  Rosamond.  .  .  . 
They  did  not  talk  any  more  for  a  little  while. 

"And  so  she  got  everything?"  said  he  presently, 
in  the  tone  he  would  have  used  to  a  very  dear  child. 


(Page  337) 


'  'You  can  just  pick  me  up  and  put  me  back 
where  you  got  me  from.  Master  Johnnie' ' 


THE  LAST  DREAM  3S7 

Rosamond  remembered  and  lifted  her  head  and 
laughed  a  little. 

"Why,  no!"  she  said.  "She  didn't.  I'd  quite 
forgotten.  I  wanted  to  lie  on  the  grass  and  look  up 
at  stars,  and  not  have  any  one  to  say  *  come  in  or 
you'll  catch  cold.'  I've  never  done  that  yet,  and  now 
—  now  that  you're  going  to  be  my  landlord  and 
master  for  life,  I  suppose  I  never  shall." 

John  Squire  laughed.  But  he  was  ever  more  a  man 
of  action  than  of  words.  One  of  his  arms  was  around 
Rosamond's  waist  already,  and  he  had  merely  to  put 
the  other  one  beneath  her  to  stand  up,  carrying  her 
in  his  arms.  He  walked  down  off  the  porch  with  her, 
across  the  little  lawn,  into  the  borders  of  the  pines, 
till  they  came  to  an  open  spot.  There  he  laid  her 
gently  down  on  the  dry  pine-needles,  and  sat  down 
beside  her.  Then  he  bent  and  kissed  her. 

"  Go  ahead  and  look  at  all  the  stars  there  are,  my 
darling,"  he  said.  "  If  you  ever  have  an  unsatisfied 
wish  in  the  world  it  shan't  be  my  fault." 

But  Rosamond  did  not  avail  herself  of  his  permis 
sion.  She  sat  up  straight  and  stared  at  him. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  aren't  going  to  stop 
me,  or  mind  whether  I  catch  cold  from  the  dew  or 
not  ?  "  she  demanded  aggrievedly. 

"A  strong  young  girl  like  you?"  he  replied 
placidly.  "  If  you  do  as  much  travelling  with  me  as 
I  think  you  will  we'll  sleep  in  many  a  wetter  place  than 
that.  And  why  should  I  worry  you  by  fussing  at 


338  WHY  NOT? 

you?  You're  as  much  of  a  reasonable  being  as  I 
am.  It's  very  simple,  dear.  If  I  love  you  enough 
naturally  I  want  you  to  be  happy  in  your  own  way. 
If  you  love  me  enough  it'll  be  the  same  thing.  It's 
only  the  little  love  that  ties  people  up.  We  haven't 
that  kind." 

"  No,  we  haven't  that  kind,"  echoed  Rosamond 
softly.  But  presently  she  laughed  and  nestled  up  to 
him  like  a  kitten.  "  You  can  just  pick  me  up  and 
put  me  back  where  you  got  me  from,  Master  Johnnie," 
she  said.  "  I  don't  see  what  I  want  to  look  at  stars 
for,  anyway.  I'd  much  rather  look  at  you." 

He  laughed  too,  and  lifted  her  obediently. 

"  But  wasn't  there  one  more  thing?  "  he  asked. 

"  There  was  a  Knightly  Lover,"  she  said.  .  .  . 
"  He's  you." 

And  they  lived  happily  ever,  ever  after.  .  .  .  Why 
not? 


THE  END 


VAIL-BALLOU  CO.,   BINGHAMTON   AND  NEW  YORK 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


UCD  LIBRARY 

)UEAPR2    1973 
J/1AJ  4 


UCD  LIBRAE 

DUE  APR     c 
APR 


OCT 


9  1979 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-BOm-8,'63(D99S4s4)458 


293717 

Widdemer,  M, 
Why  not? 


PS35U5 
1175 
Wli 
1915 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


293717 


1175  00063  8653 


